Chapitre 2: Chapter 2
My hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. What was that thing? It couldn't have been a dream… it was too real. Sweat rolls down my too pale skin as the car glides to my destination.
The air conditioning in my car has been broken for 2 years now. Even with my job at Mcdonalds, I can't afford to get it fixed. I inherited the car from my brother when I was 16. I'm 18 now, and everytime I drive it, it groans like it's sick, like I magically passed down my own pain to Jami- my car. I stifle a sob as I drive through the dark streets of Monroe, Arizona. It's been a year and 2 days since the accident, and I still can't bring myself to think of it. He was gone in a day. I haven't been happy since. I'm weak.
I'm broken.
I spin a turn into the smooth driveway and release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
I take in the huge, white house before me. Even in the dark it's utterly breathtaking. White pillars frame the shimmering glass porch. A huge bay window is draped with crimson curtains. The door is rimmed in gold, and I can almost feel the presence of the diamond-studded chandelier just behind it. If my best friend didn't live here, I'd be tempted to turn my car right around and drive away. Sometimes I forget how different our childhoods were, yet somehow they weren't much different at all...
It's times like these that I wonder how I'd even become friends with someone as rich and attractive as Michael. Sometimes I wonder why he even bothers to talk to me at all.
After a few minutes, I get the courage to peel my trembling hands from the steering wheel and turn off the engine. My body groans in protest as I pull myself out of the car and close the door with a slam.
The sun is now peeking above the horizon sending beautiful hues of red and pink into the night sky. I check the time on my phone: 5:45 AM. God, Michael is going to kill me for waking him up this early on our summer vacation.
I contemplate turning around altogether, but sheer terror of what's inside my shack of a home hauls me to the door giving me the courage to knock twice. I shift on my feet, uncomfortable silence creeping over me. Goosebumps spread across my body despite the blazing heat of Arizona. I don't know what I'm running from, but I know I can't let it find me.
I'm deep in thought as the door swoops open. I jump, my eyes cracking to the tall, toned figure in front of me.
Michael is wide-eyed as he takes me in. His bright blue eyes rake down my body as he runs a hand through his strawberry blonde locks. Suddenly self conscious, I run a hand through my own snow-colored hair. My hand gets caught in the tangles, and pain shoots through my head as I wrench it free.
Michael sounds a deep laugh and says, "Sarah, you look like shit."
I slap him violently in a hissy fit. He continues to laugh as he ushers me inside the house fit to be called a mansion. My cheeks turn the color of the curtains when I realize my tattered shirt barely reaches halfway down my midriff. I didn't have the sense to throw on a sweatshirt in my panic, so I cross my arms in embarrassment as I enter his residence.
The inside of the house is even more beautiful than the outside. Night black bookshelves line the wall, along with a classic stone fireplace. The red drapes are complemented by ruby and deep blue sofas. There is a glass coffee table to match the chandelier right in the center of the room.
He slides into place next to me, his hand brushing against mine. Startled, I jump back and squeak. Any other girl would die to touch Michael's hand, but we've been friends since elementary school, and I'd like to keep it that way. The sheer touch sends a shock down my arm, and my eyes dart to the ground. I look up to see a hint of pain in Michael's eyes, but it's gone in a second. I wonder if I'd just imagined it because his eyes now have a mischievous gleam.
"Is there a reason for this pleasant little visit, or did you just want to see my pretty face?" He smirks, gesturing to his face with his hands.
To my dismay, I let out a snort and roll my eyes.
"If I wanted to see a pretty face, I wouldn't be looking at you," I bite back playfully. He feigns a gasp in response, a look of mocking shock flooding his handsome features.
"Sarah! You're such a witch! And here I thought you found me attractive."
I start to laugh, but exhaustion ripples through me, and I stumble. The sides of my vision begin to go black as I cling to consciousness.
All humor leaves his face as Michael rushes to catch me. He picks me up in his arms and gently sets me on the blood-red couch, worry flooding his expression. My vision starts to clear, and I blink rapidly.
"Sarah? Sarah! What's going on? What do you need?" Michael gasps, pressing a palm to my sweat-streaked forehead. I cringe at the touch, and he slides his hand quickly back.
"Sarah, please. You show up at my house at dawn looking half dead and almost collapse in my living room. I think I deserve an explanation."
I cough and shift on the couch. I manage to whisper out, "Can I have some water?... and a shirt?"
His eyes lower to my bare stomach and his cheeks flush. He quickly meets my eyes again and rushes to his room. He comes back after a few minutes with a metallica shirt and a cup of water.
In a weak attempt to slide the shirt over my head, my arms get caught in the head hole and I writhe around, panting at the effort. I feel gentle hands grasp the shirt and slide it over my head.
"Thank you," I say, managing a weak smile at him. He returns the smile, a look of worry still masking his features.
I take a sip of cool water with my shaky hands. He helps me set it down, and looks at me intensely. It feels like he's unclothing me with his eyes, so I blush again, sinking lower into the couch. He continues looking at me, obviously waiting for me to explain myself, but the feeling of exhaustion again washes over me and my vision blurs.
"Where is your dad?" I barely manage to ask, the weariness weighing down my eyelids. He tenses, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he says, "He's away on a business trip."
A wave of relief falls over me. His dad has never liked me. He's always thought Michael deserved better and was slumming it with me. Michael and his father have a… strained relationship. He tries to shield me as best as he can from his father, but whenever I'm over, I hear slamming and yelling in the other room. Nonetheless, he always comes out with a smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. He acts strong for me… but I can see the pain he hides.
Michael doesn't look any less worried, but he must see that I'm not going to talk much tonight because he says softly, "I'm going to let you get some rest."
He turns to leave, but I grip his muscled arm. He looks startled but stays in place, his eyes soft.
"Can you stay? Please?"
I see him nod and sit on the end of the couch as my consciousness begins to slip away. Beginning to fall into the darkness, I hear a faint whisper of a noise. I must be dreaming because I hear Michael murmur,
"I love you, Sarah. I always have."
Then the darkness pulls me down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I awaken late, the sun already high in the sky. It shines through the window nearly blinding me. I reach my hand up to shield my eyes and stretch my back with a groan. I silently scan the room and find it empty. Something inside me is disappointed that Michael left. What did I expect him to do, though? Sleep on the couch in his own home? Unlikely. I look down and smirk at the fluffy black blanket wrapped around me and the pillow under my head.
It takes a monumental amount of effort to rip myself off the couch. Michael's couch is more comfortable than my mattress. Go figure.
I slide my feet onto the carpet and tiptoe around the room. I've spent so much of my time in this house, yet it still feels so foreign to me. It feels as though there is so much left undiscovered in it.
I turn the corner into the kitchen to find a Shirtless Michael making breakfast. Lunch, maybe? What time is it? I whip out my old, cracked iphone SE and check the time: 1:00 pm.
I make certain not to make any noise while I approach him from behind. Michael and I have this ongoing competition. Whoever successfully scares the other person the most in a week gets Sunday morning breakfast by courtesy of the other person. We've been doing this ever since Michael got his license at 16. I'm about to pounce at him, when I notice a huge bruise tracing almost the entire right side of his body. I gasp, successfully blowing my cover.
The bruise is one of the nastiest things I've ever seen. Blue, purple, black, and red uneven splotches overlap one another cascading from his shoulder to his hip. A garbled noise escapes me, and tears fill my eyes. Michael whips around staring me dead in the eyes, the look on his face unreadable. I stare him down with equal intensity. He rushes to his room, and comes out frantically with a shirt on. I find traces of guilt in his posture and stony face.
I've noticed the bruises before, but none were like this. This one looks fit to kill him. This one confirms my suspicions. This has gone on too long. I'm not listening to any more excuses.
"Michael, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR SIDE?" I demanded, utterly seething at his dick of a father.
He looks stunned, unable to speak. Hurt and terror flood his face, and that nearly breaks me. Michael is one of the best people I've ever known. He, of all people, doesn't deserve this burden.
In a calming voice he says, "I fell down the stairs, Sarah. Calm down." The look in his eyes is genuine, the bruise anything but.
"Cut the bullshit. You've been lying to me for years, Michael. I get that you're trying to protect me, but you shouldn't have to go through this alone. I'm HERE for you, Michael."
I take a step forward, nothing but rage and sadness burning in me. I gently slide my fingers down his bruise, and he winces, tears in his eyes. This is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. He Grabs my hand in his own and looks at me with the kind of pain Jamie used to look at me with when we were in that dreadful foster home.
He just looks at our hands for a minute, then reluctantly lets go. His eyes meet mine again as he begins to cry.
Our tears intertwine as we embrace. Two broken pieces trying to put themselves together again. The hug is more for me then it is for him. I cling to him to hold myself together, feeling as if I'll fall apart if I let go. After a few minutes, we come to our senses and release each other. Tears still sting my eyes.
My body still trembling, I manage to say, "I'm getting you out of here. Let's go. I'm not gonna sit Idly by while your father tears you apart."
Michael just looks at me in awe. I blush and turn away. Why does he keep looking at me like that? I'm not attractive, not even close.
"Ok."
I shudder at the cold, blunt word, and start toward the door, keys to my beaten up car in hand. I don't dare look back to see if the coldness in his voice matches his eyes. I don't want to know. I hear slow footsteps behind me as I make for the car, leaving the magnificent house behind.
I only get the courage to look up at him when I swing the car door open. His eyes are hard, dark. I've never seen them like that before. It leaves a chilling feeling in my bones. He gets in the car slamming the door shut. He must sense my gaze because he looks at me, smiling. The look in his eyes disappears, and he's back to being the Michael I know.
I catch my breath as we drive aimlessly around town. The world passes by in a blur, and it's just me and Michael.Under normal circumstances we'd be laughing and blasting music, but instead we sit in suffocating silence.
Two broken pieces in a car.
Driving nowhere.
Driving everywhere
— Un nouveau chapitre arrive bientôt — Écrire un avis
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone