Maladaptive

36. Fairy Tale

FAIRY TALE

Is this all just a maladaptive daydream?

As soon as I left the service station and the police officers caught me off guard, I went into a state of shock, and my only escape was escapism. What if this Conner, the one lying beside me, was nothing more than the fairy tale I conjured in my mind?

Two weeks ago, that night, the police questioned me, and he stood by without helping. Instead, he dropped the cigarette, dragged his shoe across it, entered his car, and drove off.

Is this my desire for a happy ending? One of the thousands of fairy tales I created in my mind to help me cope with the beatings and neglect—the broken home.

I stood there, the warm air uncomfortable, and the police officers sauntered over to me, asserting their dominance. The Toyota Corolla pulled out of the parking lot, and, uncaring, he drove back home while the police escorted me to their car.

I heard Andy’s ongoing complaints about his parents again the next day in class as we sat together.

I listened without interrupting, slowly hating the person Andy was becoming, but having no one else who knew about me to do anything about it.

Conner went to his table, his hazel eyes never drifting or looking in my direction.

I waited at the bus stop, the Toyota Corolla driving past, Sarah Jane in the passenger seat, hip-hop pounding as they went. Wylan slept on the chair beside mine, and I sat there, the heat getting the best of me.

I worked, lifting the soft drink case, struggling under the pressure and pain across my arm. Conner walked past the aisle, going straight to the self-service.

I went home, sleeping with my phone clutched to my chest and an empty inbox, listening to the cries of agony around me, sinking deeper and deeper into my head, begging for a release.

On Friday, I leaned against the bricks, Samantha with Dylan, while Wylan and Andy smoked a joint, and Conner played Dungeons & Dragons with his friends.

This can all be a maladaptive daydream. And when I open my eyes, I’m staring at a still fan. The air-con is still broken, Mum is crying, and Dad is drinking. I can wake up at the beginning of the story.

It makes sense. There’s no way Conner’s personality is real… that he is real—the perfect guy for me. Our chemistry and feelings are so intense that they make me fall for him hard, and he falls for me. His smile, his laughter, and the confidence he brings.

It’s fake.

There’s no way someone like him could ever notice me. I’m in the middle lane. No one is supposed to hear me scream.

I clutch at his chest, and his hand drags down my arm, stroking it. I shudder, the butterflies breaking away from their cocoons in the pit of my stomach.

It’s not real. None of this is true, but… while my eyes are still closed, I’d like to keep this memory of him and prevent myself from waking from this fairy tale.

“Noya,” he breathes. “Are you awake?”

“Don’t leave,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be able to if I tried. You’re latching onto me.” There is a slight pause, and I’m ready for him to vanish. “Did you have a bad dream?”

I shake my head and lean into him, my lips grazing his. “I don’t want this to end.”

I kiss him, yearning to keep this facade.

My body moves, and I sit on him, my hands on either side of his face and my mouth moving with his.

I need this. I need to keep this, even if it is a maladaptive daydream.

This is the only thing keeping me sane, and if he fades away…

if I wake… I don’t know how long I can keep going like this before I, too, fade away.

His body shifts, sitting up. His fingers slip through my hair, and his other hand grabs my waist. My legs wrap around him, and my hands clutch at his shirt, removing it. I touch his chest, tense muscles, and broad shoulders. The hunger is undeniably uncontrollable.

My fingers move down to his pants when a harsh, ragged breath seethes out of him, “Noya.” He breaks away from the kiss. His hands grab both my wrists, his breathing harsh and exhausting. “We aren’t doing this now at your nan’s place.”

“We have to,” I say, my lips finding him again. The tension around my wrists relaxes, and I move them down again, needing this—him before he leaves. “Before I wake from this dream.”

“What?” he questions, pausing mid-kiss.

“As soon as I open my eyes, you will be gone, and I’ll be at home, staring at the broken fan on my ceiling. Mum will cry, and Dad…” My lip trembles. “I don’t want this fairy tale to end, Conner.”

“Open your eyes, Noya.”

I shake my head.

His hand glides across my cheek, and his thumb strokes my cheekbone. “Please.”

The blurriness of my vision catches me off guard. Wiping the tears away, I gaze at Conner. A soft expression on his face as he watches me. I bite my lip to keep the crying to a minimum.

“I didn’t spend over two weeks making you mine for you to think that this is one of your dreams, Noya,” he says.

“We like the same type of music. You’re patient.

You’re kind. Your family life is perfect,”—his eyes narrow—“and you like me. Tell me this isn’t the making of one of my maladaptive dreams, Conner?

” I pout. “You even sing to me and declare that we are going to be together for a lifetime. I’m seventeen, and you’re eighteen.

How are we supposed to know what we’re doing within a year, let alone a lifetime? You’re too perfect to be true.”

Conner grabs his shirt and shrugs it on before his arms wrap around me.

My stomach lurches when we fall back. His arms settle around me, caging me protectively.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers into my hair.

“I’m not patient. I hate check-out lines, and I get mad when self-service isn’t open, and I have to wait.

I don’t like waiting, so when we get food, and there’s a pile-up of cars, I park.

When you went into the bank, I went elsewhere because lines irritate me. ”

“Conner…”

“I’m not kind either. I mirror people… a lot.

” His thumb strokes against my hip. “Not to you. You’re different.

You bring out the best in me…, but with other people.

If they treat me like shit, I treat them like shit back.

Andy, for instance. He’s a parasite, always talking back, wanting to say the last word, so I do it back to him to piss him off.

If I were kind, I’d shrug off that behaviour and move on.

Instead, I’ve become as petty as they are.

“And I briefly talked about my family life with you. My mum still doesn’t like the idea of me not wanting to go to university.

It’s awkward at home. It’s like we’re both walking on eggshells.

It’s the reason I hang out at your work or stay in the car with you for so long.

You, Noya, are my anchor, too. You keep me sane because I feel like screaming at them when I get home.

After all, they don’t understand me as you do. ”

I wrap my arms around his neck, rest my head on his chest, and listen. He needs this. He needs me to listen to him and his struggles.

Right now, I need to be here for Conner.

“I gave you ten genuine reasons I like you. I sing to you because I love singing and seeing you smile.” He breathes a laugh when he adds, “And blush.”

“Stop,” I say as I smile.

“And I don’t think we’re moving too fast. Hundreds of years ago—and even sometimes now—after a singular meeting, the man would go down on one knee and ask for the lady’s hand in marriage.

Yeah, our infatuation is intense, but I’d like to think we’re intense people, so it can feel fast.” He shakes me slightly when he says, “And if you keep insinuating that we should have sex every time we kiss, I guess that could also play a part in why you think our relationship is going too fast.”

I groan, feeling the heat flush my cheeks.

“And before you think, ‘I don’t want to’, trust me, I do.

But I’m also a little old-fashioned. The thought of doing anything remotely sexual at your home, my home, and your nan’s makes me feel dirty and disturbed.

So, we can go somewhere private when you’re ready–not horny.

So, Noya, this isn’t a dream, and I’m not perfect.

I’m simply perfect for you, like you’re perfect for me. ”

I jolt when he sits up, his arms resting on my thighs while I straddle him, my arms around his shoulders.

“I hide dark things about my life because I don’t want to scare you.

And I know you do the same with me.” I flinch, and my eyes widen when he says, “Your dad is cruel. I figured that much out earlier while you were sleeping. You told me this was your home the first time I dropped you off at home because you were afraid that if I parked outside your house, I’d know.

And I know now. Your dad’s an angry person.

” His fingers twitch. “Does he… is he the one you’re afraid of most? ”

“No,” I lie.

His hazel eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe me.

I need to give him something. Something solid for him to grasp before he finds out I’m the girl in the picture going around school.

He’s nearly there. I can see it. Soon enough, the knot I tied will pull, coming undone, revealing a straight line that will direct itself at me.

“Mum and Dad argue all the time. Sometimes, when the argument escalates, Dad puts his hands on Mum and…” I bite my lip, imagining all the times he raised his hand, hovering it over my head, ready to create another mark on me to hide.

“I either hide in my room or leave and roam the streets until it calms down.”

“And come here. To your nan’s place.”

“Yes,” I lie.

“That’s so fucked up,” Conner breathes. “Does your mum ever try to call the police?”

“She’s in denial,” I say while shaking my head. “Sometimes, I wonder if he’s holding something over her, and that’s why she’s afraid.”

Lowering my focus to my lap, my hands tighten.

I’m afraid, too. I’m fearful of the consequences.

The fear that no one will listen, so when Dad comes home, he will tower over my bed, his hands reaching for my throat, punishing me far worse.

And I can’t leave. I can’t run without him finding me.

There’s no way out for me, and the gnawing sadness is overwhelming.

Realising I had dragged Conner into my mess, knowing very well that I couldn’t follow.

“You turn eighteen soon,” Conner says, and I stiffen, eyeing him.

“You can do whatever you want once you’re eighteen.

You’re legally allowed to leave home.” He leans back, his hands pressing into the mattress.

“We can get an apartment together or something. You aren’t a minor anymore.

You don’t have to stay in that toxic situation,”—he eyes me—“unless you want to, to protect your mum.”

I shake my head. “For some time now, I’ve realised that some people can’t see themselves outside of a terrible relationship.

They don’t look to save themselves or the others around them.

They want to stay.” I bite my cheek, chewing the inside.

I feel sick. “So, as much as I hate myself for doing this, I need to save myself.” I turn to him, my hands clutching his arm.

“When I’m eighteen, let’s travel the country and sell our art together.

I will need to save up money. I don’t want to be a burden. ”

“Your art is amazing,” Conner says, making me smile. “People will buy your art in a heartbeat. But I still want to graduate. And I know you want to graduate, too. I’ve seen you in the library, buried in Ancient History books, doing assessments.”

Heat flushes my face.

“Why don’t we get an apartment together first? Finish school, and then we will travel the world after you graduate from Year Twelve.”

“You don’t think we will be moving in too quickly? My birthday is three weeks away, and by then, we’ll have only known each other for a little over a month.”

“I don’t think so,” he disagrees. “I mean, to some people, it may seem like that, but that’s because they don’t know us like we know each other.”

I smile warmly. “You’re right,” I breathe.

He leans into me and says, “Great. I’ll get my apartment set up for us.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“For my eighteenth birthday, Mum and Dad bought me an apartment across town, near the university.” He breathes a bitter laugh.

“It’s the biggest hint of the century that they wanted me to attend university.

So, when I said I didn’t want to, it came as a surprise because they had already planned a place for me to live off-campus. ”

“Do you…live there now?”

“No,” he answers. “When I told Mum and Dad that I didn’t want to go to university, they took the keys from me and told me I could get them back if I went to uni. But with our new plan, I think I can compromise with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll go to university for twelve months and assign myself to courses that don’t last more than that year. Then, with the money we would have saved up from work—I’ll go back to The Ark—we can start our adventure. Our fairy tale of an ending.”

“Conner.” My hands tighten, and I nod a few times. “Okay.” I laugh—a mixture of nervousness and excitement. “Let’s do this. Let’s move in together.”

We kiss, the excitement bubbling inside us.

I can see it. It is a hint, but enough to know that the front door I thought Dad bolted shut is coming undone. I stand there, an iron bar in my hands, ready to break apart the door and free myself.

I can do this… we can do this. At the end of every tunnel, there’s a light, and mine seems to shine more brightly now.

I can finally see my future unfold, and I’m nervous but excited to see where it will take me.