I wonder if she realises that her blatant aversion to my ways only entices me more—like when you find a loose thread on your shirt and you can’t ignore it, having to keep pulling until it finally breaks free. That’s what I want to do with Honey, help her break free from the chains she wraps herself in. The prospect of uncovering that passionate side of her I saw when she was writing in her notebook is too tempting.
‘Yes, Blue.’ I stand, grabbing my bag to signal that this two-person party is moving elsewhere. Her eyes are gluedto me the whole time. ‘You were the one who helped me get that B grade, so you deserve to celebrate too. C’mon, missing one tutoring session won’t hurt you.’
‘I don’t drink alcohol,’ she abruptly says, wincing.
I stifle my laugh with a fist. God, she’s really been brainwashed by her parents if she thinks drinking alcohol is the only way to celebrate. Maybe if my dad wasn’t such a heavy drinker, I might engage in drinking more myself—especially since Duke’s grandfather owns a bar and is incredibly lax when it comes to age restrictions.
‘No shit, Blue, you’re seventeen years old, and I don’t peg you as a law breaker just yet.’ My teasing grin is met with blushing cheeks. ‘I ain’t gonna make you drink alcohol, don’t worry. Look—’
I crouch so I’m staring up at her, putting her in the position of power—a position I imagine she rarely finds herself in. The heady rush I get from seeing those baby blues regarding me, the way any noise and light surrounding us seems to dim while I’m under her unwavering gaze—it shocks me. So much so that I grab the table for support, and it takes me a second to retrieve my lost words.
‘I got some snacks in my truck. Why don’t I grab them, and we go sit out on the bleachers and just chill?’
‘But …’ Eyes flick between mine as Honey considers, her expression unreadable. ‘What if people see us together? Won’t they wonder?’
Won’t they wonder why she’s associating her golden reputation with mine, which is practically torn to shreds? I like to think I’ve become immune to pain in the last decade, but the sting of that lands sharply in my stomach. Still, Ican’t blame her. She’s not the only one to want to avoid getting caught on my broken pieces.
‘’S’okay, I know a place we can stay invisible.’
Sheets of late afternoon sunlight break through the bleachers above, casting over Honey, making the strands of her loosely waved blonde hair shimmer amongst the shadows she’s also doused in.
The faint echo of conversations from groups dotted along the bleachers filters between the metal seats, carried on the whispering December breeze. Honey tightens her fluffy peach scarf around her neck while an old, tattered blanket beneath keeps us somewhat warm from the chill of the late fall ground. We’re round the back of the field, far enough away from the school entrance that no one should notice us under here.
She rubs her hands together, cardigan sleeves pulled up as far as possible over her hands to keep them warm, fingers just poking out. ‘Why do you have so many snacks in your truck?’
I’m lost in how the sunlight reflects in her eyes and have to snap out of their trance. But it renders me off guard, and it takes me a second to find the right story. ‘Um—gotta keep fuelled after practice, right?’
The delivery is shoddy, and I even forget to smile. Honey bobs her head, rolling her lips together that are a slightly paler pink than usual in the cool air. Her plump cheeks have taken on a rosy tinge from the cold though, one that spreads all the way to the tip of her nose. Nerves bubble inside of me at her silence as she picks up a few different candy bars and inspects them. Each time she puts one back down, she lines it up neatly beside the other, as opposed to how I just tipped the paper bag of snacks upside down, letting everything fall out. She always does love keeping things neat, I’ve noticed.
The need to fill the silence hovering between us, to gain her attention claws at my chest. My mind whirrs with things to say, but I can’t quite catch any of them, until I find myself quickly admitting, ‘I sometimes sleep in my truck too.’
Honey’s eyes jump up to me then, fingers hesitating to tear open the candy bar she’s finally chosen. ‘After practice?’
‘No … when my dad is in a bad mood.’
Honey goes eerily still as she regards me. I can’t work out if my skin is hot because of what I’ve never confessed before or because of the weight of her sparkling gaze on me. I’m tiptoeing a line here that neither of us have yet crossed, but deep down know what lies the other side. We both know the other needs the concealer, but we’ve never spoken the reason aloud.
Still, being under the bleachers with Honey, hidden amongst the shadows, has me wondering what it would be like to admit it. To trust someone else. So, I swallow thickly, and elaborate, ‘I keep a bunch of snacks in there, and this—’ I pat the blanket beneath us ‘—so I can hide out in my truck ’til the morning if necessary.’
Unexpectedly, Honey rips open her candy bar and takes a huge bite, her eyes rolling back as she lets out a soft moan from the taste. I try to ignore the pleasure I get from the sound, but there’s no way I’m tearing my eyes from her sudden liberation.
Mumbling through the candy, she says, ‘I wish I had a truck to hide from my father in.’
And just like that, some tether of trust begins to form between us, tugging on my heart when it starts. For the first time, Honey’s admitted who’s been hurting her, and it’s both an agony and an honour to be the one she feels safe enough to confide in. I had a hunch from the way she spoke about her father before, but now I know the truth and it makes my blood boil.
‘It’s not as glamorous as it seems.’
‘I don’t know.’ She smacks her lips and finally swallows. ‘A truck full of candy, where you can drive off wherever you want sounds better than the bedroom I get locked in every night.’
‘You get locked in your room?’
‘It’s silly, really. I mean, where am I gonna go in the evening? I have one friend and can’t drive. But I think it’s just his way of reminding me who’s in control.’ A frown mars her innocent face. ‘As if he doesn’t do that already every time he hits or grabs me.’
For anyone else, I imagine the way Honey says such so casually would be jarring. But me? No, I let out a scoff, one that says,yeah, you’d think, and it’s fucking liberating. To be able to have a normal conversation about this with someone who understands. Not to have to pretend it doesn’t happen, out of fear that I’ll get my dad in trouble, or he’ll find out I said something, then hit me harder than he ever has. Fear that everyone will think I’m too broken to help.
But not Honey, because she sees the cracks in my soul and shows me hers back. Like right now, she’s smiling at me again finally—a soft curve of her lips that speaks of relief.
‘May I have another?’ Her fingers skim the neat row of candy bars. ‘We’re not allowed much candy at home.’