Kiara （Age 17） #3
His hand is rough, the scars jagged and raised in some places, smoothed down in others, like they’ve been fought over by fire and time.
I try to ignore the way his touch pulls a sharp shiver from me as he leads me around the car to the driver’s seat.
He guides me lightly, like he’s making sure I can let go anytime.
When I sit down, he leans over me to show me what all the stuff in front of me means.
I try to listen, but his body is hovering there, too close.
I have to close my eyes for a millisecond.
“Clutch, brake, gas, turn signal. That’s all you need to know.”
He seems too calm, but I’m sure I overheard a bit of a stutter in his voice.
He leans back and closes my door, walks around and hops in the passenger seat.
“What about the gear? I have no idea how it works.”
“I’ll do that for now,” he assures me.
Oh God. We’re going to die. I’m going to kill the Varner kid.
How can he trust me with his car? He literally just met me. I know zero things about cars but this totally looks like one of the expensive ones. I put my hands on the wheel and look at him, widening my eyes.
“Press the clutch to start the motor.” His left elbow is on the armrest while he turns the key right under my hands and the car starts.
“You know we’re going to crash and die, right?” I look at him, terror in my eyes.
“Not on my watch,” he laughs, the deep sound echoing in the small space.
“I’m really clumsy,” I try to warn him again.
“I already know that,” he says casually. “Now press the clutch again.” He moves the gear and explains how to lift the clutch but I do it too quickly and the motor dies.
I frown at him, exhaling sharply.
“That’s gonna happen to you at least five more times, so don’t worry,” he gives a reassuring smile. “Let’s go again.”
He’s so relaxed and explains everything with such care, as if he’s trying to make me feel less stressed. How can someone feel this comfortable even though I don’t know a single thing about him?
We’re doing the clutch thing for the third time now, but I zone out for a bit because he’s leaned so close to me I’m probably gonna pass out. I squeeze my eyes shut to snap out of my trance as he starts the car again. I finally do it right and the car starts moving.
“Now try turning the wheel a bit, just to get a feel for the range.”
I do as he says and it’s quite easy. The streets are completely empty here in the suburbs.
“Okay, clutch, and let’s go.” He moves the gear, so I have to go faster, but still slow enough not to kill us.
We drive around the block a couple of times. He always takes the wheel with his left hand when it’s time to turn so I don’t clip the curb and my breath hitches every time his arm moves right in front of me.
“See? You’re good.” He smiles and assures me.
“You’re literally doing everything yourself,” I reply while his hand is taking the wheel when we turn to another street.
“Not true,” he lies easily. “Let’s go faster. Clutch,” he instructs me and I do as I’m told, not really nervous anymore because he’s trying so hard to be gentle with everything. It feels serene.
We drive around the suburbs and then he makes me do everything by myself—except for the gear, thankfully. He’s a bit pushy in a strangely comforting way, instructing me to trust myself more.
It’s past two when we pull up in front of our neighbors’ house. I shut off the engine and let out a quiet breath, my hands still resting on the wheel for a second longer than necessary, as if letting go would make this night be over.
But something in the stillness of this moment tells me this is where it ends.
I lower my hands slowly, the keys slipping between my fingers as I fidget with them, the soft metal clicking against itself. He’s looking at me again, that quiet, steady way of his, and heat rises under my skin before I can stop it.
I keep my gaze down, suddenly too aware of everything—the silence, the space between us, the fact that I have no idea what to say.
“You did really well,” he says at last, his voice cutting gently through the quiet.
I lift my eyes to him hesitantly. For a second, he almost looks like he forgot how to breathe.
“You’re really nice for a thief,” I murmur, the words slipping out softer than I intended, barely above a whisper.
I reach for the handle slowly and open the door just as he does the same. We step out at the same time and end up facing each other in front of the car.
He towers over me, so I fold my arms over my chest, pretending I’m cold, even though I’m not. My gaze lifts to him on its own. His hands are tucked into his pockets as we shift slightly around each other, a quiet half-circle, neither of us breaking eye contact.
“So, good night, I guess?” he says, lifting his eyebrows with a small shrug.
“Good morning would be more accurate,” I reply, a hint of a smile slipping through.
“Good morning then.”
He gives me that relaxed smile, and I press my lips together before turning away. I walk toward the garden, feeling his gaze on my back the entire time. Just before disappearing into the bushes, I glance over my shoulder one last time, unable to hide the smile now.
He’s still there. Still watching. Like he’s making sure I get inside.
I slip back into my room and let myself fall onto the bed, covering my face with both hands.
A moment later, I hear the low hum of his car fading down the street, and something about him stays under my skin long after he’s gone.