19. Confession
CONFESSION
We park in the McDonald’s parking lot. My phone vibrates, but this time, the messages aren’t text messages. Long and drawn-out vibrations show someone is trying to call me continuously.
It’s Andy. No one else is that persistent, and if it were Dad, he would call my friends rather than me.
A sickness churns inside me at eating so much food in a day. It’s a fresh experience. I should have stopped at the popcorn. Everything after that was overindulgent.
I tip my head back and let the cool air-con ease the throbbing in my temples as it chills my heated skin.
“Do you need Panadol or something?” Conner asks.
“I just need a minute,” I answer. “Maybe water.”
The door closes. I turn down the music because it’s overstimulating me. When I do, the vibration of my phone buzzes in the front pocket of my school bag. And I know the loud, irritable sound won’t stop until I reply to Andy.
Sooner rather than later.
Rubbing my eyes with my palms, I groan at the thought. Andy is my best friend, yet I’ve never felt as distant from him as I’m feeling right now.
The car door opens, and a rush of heat flushes my face. With it, my throat tightens, and the thought of vomiting draws nearer until Conner shuts the door and hands me the bottle of water. It’s as if I’m swallowing the sensation of throwing until the sickness settles in my stomach.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Conner’s eyes drop at the sound of my phone vibrating, and his eyes narrow before he looks away.
“I will talk to him sometime tonight. I don’t want to go to school worried about where we stand,” I say.
“If he becomes a problem, hang out with my group tomorrow.”
Conner has two groups of friends, and from memory, it seems he hangs around the other popular teenagers in his year—and some from my year hang with him, too.
The thought of appearing before them—a girl who doesn’t belong—causes me to cast my focus down, my hands tightening against the tights.
I grimace.
I’ve already created a fuss and drawn unnecessary attention by coming to school with Conner. Intruding into his group is the last thing I want to do—ever.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I say, even if I doubt my words.
“I hope,” Conner murmurs. He leans forward and turns the volume of the song up a notch.
We then sit and talk in the McDonald’s parking lot for hours over trivial, random subjects.
I learn a lot more about Conner and smile as he speaks about his family, but the bitterness can’t help but rise to the surface.
I tell him I have a wild imagination, and when I was younger, I played dress-up. I told him I wanted to be a knight and go on adventures with my stallion, Farin.
Then, we listen to Conner’s playlist. He explains the lyrics to certain songs in depth, and I do the same when an Imagine Dragons song plays. Our conversations are fluent. It is as if I can talk to him for hours and not grow bored or feel like I’m boring him.
He hangs onto every word, asks follow-up questions, and wants to know more about everything.
With every breath, my throat grows raspy and strained. It has been a while since I’ve spoken this much. I can’t recall a conversation where I don’t feel the silence or where what I say doesn’t matter.
When I spoke to Andy, he seemed as if he cared—even understood. But as soon as I answered, he never followed up. Instead, he went back to speaking about himself.
I was fine with it, but sometimes it seemed like a sucker punch when he talked about how he didn’t get a wink of sleep, but knew well that I was afraid to sleep.
But with Conner, I feel as if what I’m saying sinks in.
He remembered I said I didn’t like violence and had done everything in his power not to, while Andy knew my life but couldn’t think hard enough about why I flinched whenever he grabbed me or didn’t like the thought of anyone around me fighting.
Maybe I’m being too analytical. Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough. So, I should explain this to Andy so that he can understand.
Body language might not be enough anymore. Actions don’t speak louder than words.
“What are you thinking about?”
I blink twice and then look out at my surroundings. I didn’t realise Conner was parked in front of Mrs Crawford’s house, and my mouth goes dry when I notice the car in the driveway two doors down.
I should have known Dad would be home. It’s a Monday night. The pub closes earlier. Therefore, he will drink at home. And it’s not like he has a problem with that, considering he spent all my money on the card.
“Noya?” A tingling warmth touches my face, and I flinch as I lean away from Conner. “Sorry,” I shouldn’t have—”
“No…” I say as I lean towards him.
“It’s just I remember you saying your surroundings usually bring you back from your daydreaming…” He looks away, and there’s a reddened glow to his cheeks. “I thought I’d try.”
I shift my body until I face him, and my hands clutch at the car seat while I struggle to compose myself. Heat burns across my neck and cheeks as I admit, “Conner, this past week has been the best week of my life. If you decide not to talk to me again, I’ll cherish our time together.”
“Noya,” he breathes.
“And…” I bite my bottom lip to prevent the shaky breath from shattering out of my lungs. “And one day, I would like you to kiss me. I don’t know when or where, but I’m sure when the time comes, we will both know.”
With a deep breath, I look at him. Conner’s eyes widen, and his mouth parts as if he can’t keep it closed.
“Good night, Conner.”
As I open the door, Conner calls my name. I turn to him, and my eyes widen, a soft gasp breaking through the silence as he unbuckles his seatbelt. His hands touch my waist while mine move around his shoulders.
I bury my head between his neck and shoulder while Conner’s hands stroke along the arch of my back, sending electrifying chills up my spine.
“That night—the night I saw you at the service station—I had an argument with my parents,” Conner says against the shell of my ear.
“They didn’t understand why I didn’t want to jump straight into university once I leave school.
They weren’t listening to what I wanted, so I drove around and ended up at the service station. ”
My arms tighten around his shoulders, and my fingers clutch at the back of his shirt.
“And then the girl I’ve stolen glances at in my art class bumps into a display rack, catching me off guard. So, I grabbed the first packet of chips: chicken. I hate chicken.”
I breathe a laugh.
“I panicked and went to leave, but when I got to my car, I delayed getting in by having a smoke. If it hadn’t been for the police, I wouldn’t have had the courage to talk to you.”
“Am I that scary?”
“No.” He pulls away, and his gaze steadies on mine.
“All this time, it seemed like you wanted to be alone. It wasn’t until we started talking that I realised you didn’t want to be alone.
Like me, you wanted someone to understand you, and I want to be that someone, Noya.
I’ve never felt this way before. It’s intense and real,” he laughs.
“Conner.” I place my hand over his hand. “You make it hard to leave, but I need to go.”
“I know.” He smiles faintly. “Have a good night, Noya. Sleep well.”
“See you tomorrow morning,” I whisper when I get out of the car, and then I close the door.
Conner turns his car around and drives off when I reach the front door and “pretend” to look for my keys. When I can’t see his car, I make my way down the stairs and walk the path home.
Dad is in the living room watching a replay of a football game when I enter. He ignores me as I enter my room, lie on my bed, and hold my phone.
Conner’s drawing is in there, and for a moment, I close my eyes and think back on being in the car and holding onto that hug longer.
But, like always, in the back of my mind, the thought of Dad coming out and noticing us prevented me from staying in that blissful moment.
There’s still tomorrow.
The phone vibrates, and I catch my breath. Andy’s name appears. My thumb hovers over the “end call” button before I tap the green button and rest the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I whisper.