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This was different.
When I looked at him now, it seemed as if he’d forgotten who I was—and who he’d once been.
Elliot led me to me to a car about a few yards away from the house, parked along the curb at a slant. He unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat. I tugged open the door and brushed away some crumbs before settling down into the passenger’s side.
As he revved the engine, something occurred to me. I waited until he pulled into the street, then asked, “Where’re your friends?”
He snorted.
“Leo’s drunk as fuck. Felix tried to go down on some chick and left her sobbing,” he said, shrugging.
“So…” I said, drawing my eyebrows together, “they’re at Powell, too?”
“Yeah. We’re roommates.”
I looked out the window and let out a breath. All three of my high school bullies lived fifteen minutes away from me, and would continue to do so for the next four years. How did this happen?
Elliot stopped the car a traffic light.
“Yeah,” he continued, “none of us wanted to go too far from home. Plus, rooming with three’s cheaper, so.”
I couldn’t speak.
I’d left high school that day thinking I’d never see them—anyof them—again. Freeman was supposed to make a new life for me. I didn’t want to know anyone, I didn’t want anyone to know me.
I was supposed to be safe.
As if sensing my train of thought, Elliot rolled down his window to let in a burst of cool air. Breathing it in calmed my thoughts, and I closed my eyes as I rested my head back against the seat.
Maybe I deserved this torture.
“Hey, you know what,” I said after a moment, “you can just drop me off here.”
“What?”
I kept my eyes shut. I couldn’t look at him. Could barely breathe.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening.
Not again.
“Just pull over,” I said again, facing the window.
To my relief, the car glided over to the curb. We idled there in silence as I gazed out the windshield at the black, empty road. After a minute, Elliot turned off the engine. We fell into a deep silence, but inside, the blood was screaming as it rushed through my chest. Elliot rolled down his window the whole way and dangled his arm outside it.
Part of me wanted to go—shove the car door aside, and get on my way without even slamming it shut behind me. But I was frozen, my mind was reeling, and fear kept me there. I’d be stupid to go walking out into a street past midnight in a town I didn’t know, in clothes that made me feel like the whore everyone from my high school believed I was.
Drawing in a deep breath, I turned to gaze at Elliot.
“Why are you doing this?”
He kept his eyes ahead of him, drumming his fingers on the side of the car door. “What do you mean?” he muttered.
He wasn’t mocking me. His voice was low, serious, maybe even irritated. His lip piercing glinted in the light of the street lamps that filtered through the windshield. This time, he wasn’t smirking.
How could I say it?
Why are you being nice to me? Why are you helping me?
