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“Thank you,” she says softly, before she pulls her arm out of my grasp and walks away.
She leaves me standing in my bedroom like a frozen iceberg, helpless only to watch, as the ship called Wendee peacefully passes me by.
What in the actual fuck just happened?
Dee
Push//Pull by Sam Sky, Lauren Babic
Sinn was right. I shouldn’t be walking home at this hour without being completely alert and in control of my mind and body. I think the entire situation with Sinn helped sober me up a bit though. Then again, that’s probably just my own false confidence talking and trying to justify my reckless decision to walk home.
Alcohol is the best at making you feel like you can do things you normally can’t, or shouldn’t, do. Why do you think so many people drive drunk? Do you really think that many people get behind a wheel with no care in the world of hurting, or even killing someone because of it? No. There’s no way that’s true. They do it because they truly believe they’re fine. Alcohol is muting their senses, like common sense, and telling them they can do anything. Just like it’s telling me I’m fine to walk home.
Luckily, I do make it home unscathed and stumble into my tiny apartment, kicking off my heels. I should have at least taken the ibuprofen and water Sinn offered me, but I wasn’t thinking straight. See, alcohol at its finest. But I do take some now. I manage to down three glasses of water and messily make myself a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich before I throw myself down on my bed.
My thoughts are a riot of chaos, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the alcohol. I acted like an ass tonight and I almost ended up in a very bad situation. The way I felt in that hallway comes rushing back. I hate that I let myself freeze. I should have fought, I should have screamed, I should have done something! Anything would have been better than fucking freezing like a deer in headlights.
But he came for me.
My fucked up and reckless plan worked.
He came for me.
Not only did he rescue me, again, he actuallykilledthat man. His threat from before, on the night he told me to go home, rings in my mind.
The only thing you’re going to succeed in is getting a man sent to hell for fucking touching you.
In the moment, I took his threat as no more than words he spoke to let me know he didn’t like another man touching me, not that he wouldliterallykill someone for it. Did he kill the man I danced with? Why does he care who touches me when he seems to fucking hate me? I don’t understand him at all. One second, he’s rescuing me and the next, he’s looking at me like I’m his worst enemy. His mixed signals are fucking me up. I don’t know what to do or how to act.
Maybe Tink is right. Maybe I should just move the fuck on and forget about him. That would definitely be the easier and smarter choice. Then again, when have I ever done anything that was easy? When have I ever done anything that was good for me? Answer… never. Life has never been easy and, in this moment, I see clearly just how much of it has been my doing. I’m drawn to the darkness for some reason. I’m drawn to the danger and the thrill of,what if. Because what if I can have Sinn? What if I walk away and have to live with the regret and wonder of what if?
I touch my wrist where his hand gripped me tightly, the sensation of his large hand still burning on my skin. There was nothing nice or soft in that touch. It was punishing and threatening, but instead of fear it sent a shock of excitement rushing through me. His hand on my skin was so cold it burnt. Like the stupid shit I did as a kid, putting salt on ice and holding it to your skin. It’s cold and hot all at the same time as your skin literally burns underneath.
Sinn is salted ice.
Ready to burn me up completely.
And there’s nothing more thrilling than the thought of letting him burn me, so I can finally feel alive. Maybe that’s why he’ so addicting. Every time he’s near me, I feel alive. How would it feel to be completely consumed by him? Is the feeling worth my own destruction? Because there’s no doubt in my mind that Sinn will absolutely fucking destroy me.
The bus is dark and quiet as we get closer to school, the complete opposite of how we departed seven hours ago. A mix of young juvenile male testosterone and emotionally naïve female estrogen. Dicks and hearts mixed together in a chaotic and frenzied energy of inexperience and excitement now exhausted and tapped out.
We’re coming back from a basketball trip and, as small as our school is, we can all fit inside one large bus. It’s both a blessing and a curse growing up in such a small town. Everyone knows everything about everyone and everything. There’s absolutely no hiding a fucking thing in a town this small. There’s also no coming between us when it comes to outsiders. We’re a close-knit group, all of us, for the most part, but we’re still kids. We’re still cruel, and there are still fights, rumors, gossip, and bullying. Just because there are fewer of us doesn’t mean we’re any different than other kids.
As we reach the gym, the bus parks in front to let us out and everyone rouses from either sleep or hushed conversations to gather their things and head home to enjoy what’s left of the weekend. As the doors open and everyone climbs out of the bus, heading to their vehicles, I stay and help carry the equipment back into the gym. This is one reason why I’m one of the coach’s favorites. The other reason is because I’m naturally athletic, pretty good at everything I put my mind to, and I throw myself into every sport possible; basketball, volleyball, track, plus our yearly fiestas, which consist of dancing Folklorico in a two-night event. I’m also in the Honor Society, a part of the Knowledge Bowl team, and yearbook team. To say I stay busy as often as possible is an understatement.
The innate desire to do and be good has stayed with me from a young age. As a sophomore in high school, the desire hasn’t changed. At this point, I think it’s a crucial part of who I am. Yet, all of my efforts have gone completely unnoticed by the one person I’ve tried to impress.
My mother.
All of the goodness I’ve tried to do, tried to be, hasn’t changed a fucking thing about my home life. I’m still a ghost in my own home. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if I had it all wrong this entire time. Maybe I need to do the bad things to be seen? Maybe if I’m just like her, she’ll want to be around me. Maybe if I have the things she desires, she’ll see me.
I walk out of the gym to see half of the cars have already left. I’m the only one in my class that isn’t driving yet. I’ve taken the driver’s ed class along with everyone else, I have my learner’s permit, but no vehicle to use. I also don’t have a parent responsible enough to remember to come pick me up. I only live a mile from school, I could just walk home, but it’s almost 1:00 a.m. and it’s fucking cold outside and I’d really rather not. Not to mention it’s embarrassing. I spot Jake’s truck still idling in the parking lot. He lives in the same direction I do and could easily drop me off on his way home. I just have to ask. Letting out a heavy sigh I walk toward his vehicle.
I knock on the passenger side window and it lowers immediately. Jake’s a grade above me and, although I wouldn’t say we’re a school quite big enough to have jocks, if we were, he would definitely be one.
“What’s up?” He asks.
