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Nick, Darcy, Elle, Imogen, and you were all packed into Elle’s car, or rather her parents’ car. She had warned you before getting in that if something happened, she’d have all of their heads, so you had decided against opening your snack in the car, despite the fact you’d forgotten breakfast.
Imogen had suggested a beach trip, even though it was only 60 degrees out (farenheit). Unfortunately, Isaac had gotten stuck with a heap of homework due the next day. Tao, Tara, Sahar, and Charlie were in the other car. It was a bit of a race to see who would arrive first, and of course, your group had gotten stuck in traffic.
You had your feet on the door and your head was on your seatbelt. It was the comfiest you could get, being smooshed with Nick next to you, texting Charlie and his mum, and Darcy on his right. You were trying to give Nick room, as Darcy was obnoxiously spread out and counting the number of Hondas she could see through the window. Imogen was in the passenger seat, recounting a story of a party she got drunk and smashed a table at, while Elle focused on her driving and the traffic surrounding them. Occasionally Nick’s phone would buzz faintly with a text from Charlie, and Darcy would glance over, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the messages between the two.
Elle had the air conditioning turned up, and you were freezing, though trying to hide it. The next time you shivered, you reached for your bag, grabbing out your oversized, soft, jumper the color of y/f/c. Pulling it out of your bag, you drop your phone onto Nick’s foot.
“Ouch,” Nick reaches down to rub his foot as you wrestle your head out of the hoodie and pull your arms through the sleeves.
Immediately, you start to apologize profusely. “Shit, I’m sorry, I should’ve held onto it tighter, or put it in my bag, or set it down. Are you good? Is your foot okay?” Nick grabs your phone before you can.
“It’s fine, it’s alright, nothing to worry about,” he says, glancing at your screen for a second, a second that shouldn’t have mattered. Yet, it did, it changed your life.
A message from your parents lit up the screen. It was telling you to be a better person, to help your sister even when she hit you and screamed at you, ridiculed you with criticism, and told you you’d never get anywhere in life. Something in your chest ached, it was a familiar hurt, a hurt that you’ve remembered since you were four. It appeared every few days, sometimes it could last for months. The ache always resurfaced.
You looked at Nick, his eyes locked on the text. Your heart pounded, your mind raced, and your chest felt empty. Your hands shook, anticipating your return to your parents’ house. Nick slowly looked up at you, your future in his hands.
“What’s going on,” Nick asked, handing your phone back. Everything about him was focused. His body was turned toward you, his hand next to yours on the seat. Nothing was getting held back, not this time. You’d reached your breaking point, you’d been past it since year nine, and you’d never had someone there. Maybe this could be it. But what if you came off as selfish and rude? Maybe you’d never have someone.
“It’s fine, just the usual family shit,” you mumble. Everything feels divided in you, hope pulling you one way, fear stretching you the other direction. You shift back into your previous position, turning your body away. Your hands shake and fidget. You hear your dad’s voice in his text. Your leg starts to pulse. Your mantra starts playing in your head, trying to keep calm.
“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me when I get home,” you swear, reading the text over and over again. Your free hand tapped out a frantic pattern on your thigh.
Nick gently reaches over and turns your phone off, sliding it out from your grip and placing it into your bag, slumped on the floor. “Hey, hey, that’s not true,” at this point Nick’s comments have caught the attention of Darcy and Elle, trying not to look like they’re eavesdropping.
Your hands start to tremor more frequently, and you’re caught up in your mind’s spiral downwards, fears and anxieties taking over and your surroundings flying out of your mind and your vision tunneling into nothing and the what ifs slam into your conscience; everything feels blown out of proportion and control and you’re tumbling down a slippery slope.
Nick frantically rummages through his bag for his phone, texting Charlie for help. He’s seen his boyfriend talk Tara down before; maybe he’ll know what to do. The message loads through his phone, but won’t send. There he is, stuck in the middle of nowhere in traffic with no service and not wanting to mess anything up. Crap.
You feel a hand envelope yours, stopping some of the spasms. Your hand still shakes a bit; Nick can feel it against his skin. “Alright, nothing is gonna fall apart right now, maybe later things’ll go to shit, but right now, you’re safe; nothing’s gonna hurt you,” Nick tells you, rubbing your shoulder, his hand warm and steady.
Something shifts. Your heart rate goes down, your leg stops shaking. Nick keeps holding your trembling hand and rubbing your shoulder. You take some deep breaths, centering yourself, banishing the anxiety, but leaving you with the ache in your chest and throat, the melancholy and exhaustion taking over.
You squeeze your eyes shut for a minute, full of shame, but too tired to say anything. You can feel Nick’s gaze on you. You bite your lip. The only way out was to keep going. There’s no way to reverse this, to back out.
You open your eyes, your face blank, unable to make an attempt at any joyous facial expression. “Shit, I’m sorry,” you mutter, your tone flat.
“Don’t you dare apologise, you’re literally doing nothing wrong,” Darcy interrupts, having heard the whole thing. “The only people in the wrong are your bloody parents and your shit sister,” she huffs out.
A single tear slips out of your tired eyes, the sadness trying to escape its silent prison. Embarrassed, you wipe it away with the edge of your sleeve. You sniffle a bit as your cheeks warm. Bringing your knees to your chest, you curl into your legs and slump against the seat, exhausted.
Darcy swears under her breath, exasperated, while your face is buried in your hair and the fabric of your pants. Silence fills the car for a moment, and the traffic lets up, though Siri lets everyone know that there’s more ahead.
Nick pulls you into a hug against his chest. A firm, grounding hand rubs your back as you’re embraced, and the warmth is all you can feel besides the drowning melancholy; a bittersweet mix.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Nick reassured.
He held you as if you were falling apart, which wasn’t all too far from the truth. Nothing had felt this safe in a long time, too long.
You relax a bit, just enough for your breathing to even out.
“Feelin’ okay… er, better?” His hand continues to rub your back, grounding you. You muster a sleepy hum that sounds like a yes, or something close enough to one.
Slowly, your eyes close, too heavy to stay open anymore. You slump against the seat, letting exhaustion take over.