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SCAR: Please text me back if you’re okay.
That last one gets to me, and I know I have to say something. I’d be climbing the walls if our positions were reversed, and I can practically feel the worry seeping through the words on the screen. I hit the screen of my smartphone to reply and lie there with my thumbs poised over it for a solid minute, trying to think of what to say. I hate lying to Scarlett, and telling her everything’s fine would definitely be a lie. Nothing is fine about any of this, but I have no idea where to begin.
After another minute of not knowing how to use my words, I give up on the idea of texting and just call her instead.
It rings for less than a second before Scarlett picks up.
“Oh my god!” Her voice comes out rushed and a little high-pitched. “You’re alive. Thank fuck. I was picturing you dead in a ditch somewhere, and here’s me, freaking out about getting a bad grade on an essay. What kind of friend would I be if that happened?”
I immediately smile, because there’s just something about Scarlett’s relieved sass that cheers me up immediately. “I’m not dead in a ditch, I promise,” I tell her. “You saw me earlier today. But I’m sorry I worried you.”
“You should be!” she insists. “You know I don’t care about double texting, or triple or quadruple or whatever, but I was just going to keep sending you messages until you responded. I barely see you on campus anymore. What the hell is going on? Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m okay.” There’s a moment of quiet while I try to decide how I want to handle this, but in the end, I know I can’t say anything I need to on the phone. I have to see her. “Can we meet up? Are you free now?”
“Yeah, of course,” she answers right away. “Fuck, yes. I need to see you. You sound really fucking weird.”
“I—I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Like twenty minutes? The usual place?”
“Yeah. Wait, no.” The coffee shop we usually hang out at is probably going to be too crowded. The college kids getting their caffeine fixes before settling in for a night of homework will be too much, and I don’t want to be overheard. “Let’s do that little park on Glen. It’s quieter.”
“Sure. I’ll head out now.”
We hang up, and I sit on the bed for a second, trying to decide how this will go—how I should handle it. I could tell her some of the truth, but try to keep it vague so she doesn’t know enough to get her in trouble. I could try to make up some story, but that goes right back to me not knowing how to lie to her. Either way, I have to say something, and everything in me wants to tell her the truth, just so I’m not alone with this crushing, heartbreaking secret anymore.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away angrily. Stuffing my phone and wallet into my pockets, I pull my shoes back on and head downstairs.
Just my luck, the living room is deserted except for Sloan as I pass through it. He’s sitting on the couch with his laptop on his lap, and he looks up when I walk in. I can already see the hard look forming on his face the second our gazes meet, and it makes me bristle.
“I’m going out,” I tell him quickly, wrenching my gaze away from his. I don’t even stop walking or slow down, still heading straight for the front door. If he wants to try to get up and physically stop me, then that’s on him.
I almost hope he will, if I’m being honest.
I’d love an excuse to fucking fight him.
He’s never been above picking me up and moving me where he wants me to be, and hitting him in the face for trying it would feel so damn good right about now.
But he doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t even say anything, so I keep walking and let myself out of the house. I take a deep breath and then sling my leg over my bike, cranking it up and peeling out of the driveway off toward the park.
The sun hasn’t started setting yet, but it’s shady and cool and quiet in the little park when I get there. Scarlett’s already there, sitting on a bench underneath a tree, looking at her phone. She glances up immediately when I near her, and she’s on her feet a second later, throwing her arms around me.
“Thank fucking god. There was definitely a part of me that wasn’t going to believe you were okay until I saw you alone,” she says, pulling back to look me over with an assessing expression on her heart-shaped face. “I thought maybe one of your guys had turned on you or something and was making you say everything was okay when it wasn’t.”
I can feel my face paling a little bit at her words, and she only has to take a look at my reaction to tell something’s up. She knows me better than anyone other than my dad. And since he’s gone, I guess that means she’s the only one left who really gets me.
All at once, I just feel so heavy. The grief, the guilt, the worry—it’s all been weighing on me, and the effort of keeping up appearances has been taking its toll. Being around Scarlett makes it easy to drop the mask, to give up on pretending, and I know she can see it all on my face. She sucks in a breath and leads me back over to the bench, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Jesus, Mercy.” She grimaces, her voice gentle. “What’s going on? I know something’s wrong. Don’t lie to me. Please.”
It’s the “please” that breaks me in the end. I already wanted to tell her anyway, and having her ask like that makes it impossible to deny her.
I suck in a breath, and it’s shuddery and almost painful.
“Dad’s gone,” I whisper, slumping back against the bench. “Fuck. God.”
I put my hands over my face, pressing my palms against my closed eyes until I see little colored lights in the darkness. It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud to another human being, and it feels a little like I just spoke the truth into existence.
