23. Losing You
LOSING YOU
Dear Insecurity [Fivefold]
The car ride with Conner is silent on my end. My grip tightens on my phone, as if I’m expecting a threatening message from Dad. But it won’t happen. He never calls or sends messages. Yet, the thought makes me wait by the phone in case I need to answer and explain myself.
Despite the soft music, my mind is elsewhere, and I can’t seem to enjoy the gentle hum. Noya is cowering in her room and expecting the pain.
So much pain.
I clutch at my shirt, near where the bruises live, and relive him slamming his foot into my stomach.
I bow, almost accepting my fate when the music gets louder as Conner plays an unknown song: “Dear Insecurity” by Fivefold.
Tearing out of my thoughts, I eye him as he sings along with the music, and as he sings, he reaches out to me, his hand finding mine. “Sing along with me,” he says.
“I don’t know the lyrics.”
“Then the chorus.”
“I’m a horrible singer.”
“I don’t care. Sing with me, please.” His hand tightens on mine reassuringly. I bite my lower lip, listening to the lyrics and trying to remember the lines. It’s not until the third repeat that I have enough confidence to murmur the chorus.
He smiles, releases his hold on my hand, and sings with me. I wonder why he wants me to sing, but the more I listen to the lyrics, the more I know I’m in my head, and he’s aware of it. He is more aware than anyone I know, and when I interject myself in my mind, it's obvious to someone like Conner.
The more I sing, the more confident I become. I don’t care that Conner sits beside me and is a better singer. The anxiety and fear wash away from me, and I pour my heart into the lyrics in a desperate need to shake off the tight grip around my heart.
After the song ends, he turns off repeat and moves it into shuffle. “Do you feel better?” he says.
“A little,” I admit, a hint of a smile playing on my face. “Thank you, Conner.”
He stops at the lights. I think he’s doing it deliberately now that I see he could have made it.
When he does, he faces me and says, “Sammy texting your dad bothered you, didn’t it?
” I glare at the dashboard. “Is it because your parents are strict? You said your parents don’t like it when you go out on weekends—at least, that’s how I interpreted it. ”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Is your dad replying that it’s ‘fine’ out of character for him?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re afraid to go home because he will yell at you.”
Yelling isn’t the word I’d use, but I nod anyway.
He faces the road and drives down the street. “If you ever get overwhelmed, call me. I don’t want you sitting at a bus stop all night again. I’ll take you back to mine.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whisper.
“If you ever become one, I’ll tell you,” he says in a smooth voice. “But I seriously doubt you would ever become a burden to me.”
He says that now, but little does he know that I have a closet full of skeletons and suitcases stuffed with baggage I can’t control. And the longer I’m around Conner, the more he will see how broken I am.
There are too many pieces on the floor, and the parts I try to glue together smash into the ground every single day. The pieces are so small they can be mistaken for dust, and Conner can’t fix dust. The best thing to do is grab the dustpan, sweep me up and throw me in the bin.
“I really like you, Noya,” Conner says in a low voice. “So, don’t you ever think you can’t rely on me.”
“Conner…” I turn away from him, and my hands clutch my shirt as I struggle to stop the heat from flushing across my cheeks, forehead, and neck. “I like you too.”
“I know.” He breathes a laugh. “I’ve never had someone blush so much while they’re with me. Either I’m embarrassing you, or I’m charming.”
“You’re embarrassing,” I admit with a smile. “But that’s part of your charm.”
“Well, I’m glad.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “It’s not every day someone says they like you for you.”
I lean into the headrest as I face Conner. “It’s not every day someone saves you from the police and then talks to you out of nowhere since that night.”
“Who’s that?” he says with a grin. “Well, whoever it is, you should be careful. They sound like a stalker.”
“Maybe you’re right. I should report them to the police,” I giggle.
“Ah, but you won’t,” he says as he leans towards me. “You’re afraid of them, which is one of the many questions about you I haven’t figured out yet. That and the beer.” He furrows his brow. “You are a mystery, Noya.”
“I’d like it if you stopped trying to figure me out,” I murmur.
“Okay, we can make a deal,” Conner starts. “Promise that you will tell me one day, and if you can promise me that, with no bullshit, I can tell when you're lying, I will stop.”
I look away and lean toward the car door.
“That bad?”
I don’t respond.
Conner sighs as he drags his hand through his hair. Then, that hand lowers and touches my thigh. I flinch slightly before I lean in his direction. Feeling bold, I rest my head against his arm, and the hand on my thigh rises, settling across my shoulders. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry for persisting. It’s just…” His thumb strokes my shoulder. “I’m afraid you will disappear one day, and I will never see you again. It scares me, Noya.”
I close my eyes and say, “I’m not going anywhere. But if I do, I’ll call you before I leave.”
When I open my eyes, he’s smiling the faintest.
I promise that my last breath will go to you.