62. You Saved Me
YOU SAVED ME
I park on the curb, and glare ahead at the yellow tape still bound around the home. I wonder if the blood is still there, staining the tiles, haunting whoever moves in there next. Who would sleep in those rooms after knowing what happened? How do they sell a house like that? Or do people not care?
Those are the thoughts running through my head.
Opening the car door, the car beeps until the door closes. The door locks automatically, and the headlights flash twice as it locks.
I head up the steps onto the porch of Mrs Crawford’s house and knock. Mrs Crawford peeks through the curtain, makes a delighted squeal, and opens the front door. “Noya, come in!” she says as she ushers me inside.
I step inside, my sights drifting to the shotgun above the unlit fireplace. Then, lowering my gaze away from it, I follow Mrs Crawford into the kitchen. I sit at the dining table while she puts the kettle on and grabs her famous sugar cookies. I smile longingly at them, taking one out of kindness.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as she scoots into her seat. “I tried visiting a few times, but the police wanted more questions once I entered the hospital. Pests.”
Covering my mouth while I eat, I breathe a laugh.
“Anyway, what brings you here?” She leans in, her eyes widening alarmingly. “You aren’t going into that place, are you?”
I shake my head. “No. I came to see you… and to say thank you. You’re the one who saved me that day.”
“Dear, you don’t have to thank me. If anything, I wish I had got there sooner.”
“No. You got there right on time.”
Mrs Crawford rises from her seat, goes to the kettle, and pours the hot water into the sugar and coffee mixture until the bitter scent simmers in the air.
“How’s your new place? You and that cute boy living together?”
I smile shyly, feeling the blush creep across my neck. I take hold of the mug when she hands it to me.
“We are… and it’s nice. A lot quieter,” I joke, but as she laughs, I feel sick for trying to make a dark situation lighter.
“He’s a hunk of a man,” she says, sighing dreamily. “From the first time I saw him drop you off and then wait, I knew he was a true gentleman.”
I smile at the memory of Conner dropping me here, thinking this was my home. He has always waited until I went up the steps before he drove off. Now, we share different, longer memories, feeling safe, lying in each other’s embrace.
We talk for a few hours, and I know she tries to keep the conversation lighthearted for my benefit.
And when I leave, I thank her again, embracing her as I say so.
Even if she doesn’t believe it, she saved me that day.
If she hadn’t come, who knows what state I’d have been in before the police entered the premises?
Would Dad have killed me?
I think about that a lot. He would have killed me if he knew he was going to jail, anyway. So, I am grateful for having a neighbour like her.
I notice a few silent neighbours holding their phones high when I leave, recording me. Soon, those recordings will go on social media, and there, headlines I’ll be too afraid to see will display themselves above, twisting into lies I’ll likely cry over tonight because I can’t help but read them.
Digest them.
Hate them.
Fear them.
It is human nature.
I pull out my phone, get into the car, and lock the doors. Unlike my old phone, I have this in silent mode. I need to figure out how to turn the vibration up, for I have eight missed calls and four messages from Conner.
Conner: Where are you?
Conner (again): Are you not at school? Can you please answer your phone, baby?
Conner (thirty seconds later): Okay. I calmed down a little. Mum told me she picked you up because you weren’t feeling too well. You could have told me; I would have taken you home.
Anyway, did you like your present?????
Conner (a minute ago): I’m coming home. You aren’t answering, and I’m worried.
Leaning back in the seat, I enter contacts and call Conner. He answers after the first ring.
“Baby?”
“Hey,” I murmur. “I’m not home. I’m leaving Mrs Crawford’s house now. I would have replied earlier, but I don’t know how to put vibrate on, and having sound on scares me too much.”
“Ah.” I pout, imagining him smirking at how incapable I am of using a functioning phone. “I’ll help you when I get home. I’ll meet you there. Go underground and take my car spot. Love you, and have a safe drive in your new car.”
I groan, which makes him chuckle. He knows how much I dislike anyone handing me things for free, and it’s one of our back-and-forth playful arguments.
“Love you too,” I breathe.
When we hang up, I reach over to the screen and find Spotify.
I log in to mine and head to my most frequent and recent playlist. I turn the volume up, singing “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons.
I’ll need to prepare for the concert in December.
I know all the words, but my singing voice is terrible.
I’m a horrible singer. So, to save the embarrassment, I’ll practice so that I can sound better than I do now.
The shutter doors open, and I slide down to the underground car park. I weave around until I notice Conner standing beside the car spot that’s his. The car is smaller than Conner’s, so I feel confident parking in the squished place.
As I get out of the car, I yelp and giggle when Conner’s arms go around me, and his lips find mine. I place my hands on his chest, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, as I deepen the kiss.
He’s intoxicating.
After I lock the door, I tell Conner why I went to Mrs Crawford’s place, and the conversation flows from there. I don’t like that Conner left school early, but he convinces me it was Health, so my irritation fades.
Once we head inside, Conner tells me Dylan and Sammy wanted a double date Saturday night at the bowling alley. Conner agreed because he’s competitive and wants to show off. I’ve never gone bowling before, so I thought it would be an experience.
“Why did you leave school?” Conner asks. He’s in the kitchen, making a sandwich.
“Uh…” I hover over the sink and wash the lettuce.
“I don’t like people staring at me, and many were staring at me.
” Turning the tap off, I shake the excess water and place the lettuce on the chopping board.
“But I spoke to the principal, and she told me I could take the rest of the year off and do homeschooling.”
“Can I join?” Conner jokes.
“We wouldn’t be learning if you were home.”
“What would we be doing, then?” he asks playfully.
“Having sex,” I admit.
“Minx.”
I nudge his arm, and he chuckles. “It’s your fault,” I say.
“Oh. Am I just too sexy and irresistible?”
“Yes.”
He grins as he says, “Then why aren’t you jumping my bones now?”
“I’m hungry,” I reply as I grab the plate and take my ham and lettuce sandwich to the lounge.
Conner sits beside me, and he turns on the TV. Unfortunately, he can’t change the channel in time, and I tell him to wait until Dad comes on screen. News reporters swarm him. He’s with the policewoman, and they are going up the stairs to the courthouse.
The headline on the bottom of the screen states: John Taylor heads into court to face his charges of destroying vital evidence eight years ago.
“This is the first court case,” I murmur. “He has four more big charges against him, doesn’t he? Selling drugs, in the procession of illegal drugs, the one with the other two police officers who ignored Mrs Crawford’s calls and the charge my mum put on him.”
“Noya…” Conner grimaces, averting his gaze.
“What?” I sit up and suddenly feel panicked.
“At this stage, your mum isn’t pressing charges.”
Leaning back on the lounge, I move to the side and rest my head against Conner’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I take a bite of my food, but don’t feel hungry anymore. “I should have seen this coming.”
“Maybe when she’s better in rehab, she might change her mind.”
I doubt it, I think, but force a smile instead. “Why don’t we watch more of those Marvel movies? I really like Black Widow. She’s my favourite.”
“Y-yeah, baby,” Conner says.
We flick on Disney, and I snuggle further into my comforter, known as Conner, and we spend the night watching movies.
I need this to keep my mind off Mum and Dad.