Page 8 of #Lovestrong
7
Lena
Ican't stop shaking and I have no idea who this guy is. I glance over, and it dawns on me that he's the guy I bumped into before the fireworks started. He looks like he's eighteen, maybe nineteen. The muscles in his arms flex as he reaches over to turn the heat on low. Too bad being cold isn't the reason for my shakes.
God, this is embarrassing. I should’ve stayed at the house. At least I could’ve cried in my room without anyone seeing me. Why didn't I think of that earlier? I suck in a shaky breath and try to wipe the sweat from my face. I knew this was going to be bad, but no one, not my dad or the therapists, warned me fireworks would be this bad.
Even with my eyes open and the car silent aside from this random boy’s slow, deep breaths, I can still hear the gunshots in my ears. When will this stop? How long does it take before I stop reliving that moment every single day or my life?
"Are you okay," he asks in a low, even voice. He probably thinks I'm crazy. I don't even think that's a far-off assumption. Lord knows, I feel crazy some days, especially the days when every little sound makes me cower and duck to hide behind something.
"Yes," I say with my voice cracking. No. No, I'm not okay, but I’m sure as hell not going to tell that to some dude I've never met.
I stare out the window and a few moments later, he pulls into a long, winding driveway. He follows it back past a small grove of trees into a large parking area. There's a concrete fountain in the middle and a house— no, a mansion— behind that. My jaw drops slightly open. Dear God, that thing is huge.
"We can sit in the car or by the fountain. Or we could go in the house. I could make you a cup of coffee or something. Whatever you want," he says in a rush, almost like he's nervous.
I doubt it's nerves though. Nobody this good looking gets nervous around girls. Unless he's afraid I'm going to melt into a sobbing mess again, which is probably a terrifying thought for him.
"I don't want to bother you. I'm sure the fireworks are over, so you could just take me back and I can walk home," I say, keeping my eyes on the fountain so I don't have to look in his face.
"Or we could hang out for a few minutes until you're actually ready to head back to town," he says as I look over at him. His eyes go wide as he reaches toward me and I shrink back. "Jesus. Hold still. You're lip is bleeding pretty bad." He swipes his thumb right under my lip, then unbuckles himself and leans over to open the glovebox.
I mimic his action and then look down at my thumb. It's covered in blood. "Shit." Using my other hand, I wipe at my lip again. I hadn't even noticed it was still bleeding.
He wipes his thumb off and then holds a small wad of tissues to my lip. "Hold that there for a minute. I'm Declan, by the way."
"Thanks," I say, pressing the tissues to my lip as he sits back. "I'm Lena."
He coughs, like he swallowed and it went down the wrong hole. I stare at him, waiting for him to regain his composure. Once he does, he turns in his seat to face me and reaches over to turn off the heat before opening the windows. The breeze blows in, messing up my hair. It’s refreshing— I hadn't even noticed how hot the car is.
"So, are you new around here? I don't think I've ever seen you before," he says, resting one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his leg.
"Yeah. Just got in yesterday." I pull the tissues from my lip, fold them in half, and pat the cut again. Nothing sticks, so I ball the tissues up in my hand. My lip aches slightly, and I'm dreading explaining this to my grandparents. They're going to think I'm stupid.
"Where are you from?" He gives me a small smile.
His eyes glisten as he moves his head just enough that the light catches them. They're so blue, and remind me of Cameron's. As I glance over Declan, my stomach flips, my brain registering the similarities between my dead friend and this stranger— strong builds, deep voices, easygoing attitudes, and those damn blue eyes.
I fight to breathe, to keep my composure, to swallow the memories and guilt that eat me alive every time I think of him. God, I miss him.
"A shit-sized town in Virginia."
He chuckles and smiles wide, making the corners of his eyes crinkle together slightly. I almost want to smile back, but it makes my heart hurt. Enjoying life almost feels like I'm betraying my friends. Not just Cameron and Camilla, but the other nineteen kids killed because of me.
Their lives were taken and cut short when they all had so much going for them.
"You seem calmer now. How about I drive you back to town? Where should I take you," he asks, turning in his seat and putting his seatbelt back on.
"Uh, I live in the apartment above Grandma Mabel's, the cafe thing in town by the river."
He laughs again, and I tilt my head, trying to figure out what's so funny. "You don't have to say anything other than Grandma Mabel's. There isn't a kid in this town who doesn't know that place. Best pecan pie EVER."
I can't help but stare at him as he turns the car around and heads back down the driveway. Declan seems nice and, in the back of my mind, I feel like I owe him for saving my ass tonight. Cameron would’ve done the same thing if he found a girl crying all alone.
I know my dad wants me to start over here and try to move past it all, but I can't.
I just miss my friends.