Motion Sickness

I pulled into my driveway and silently waited for her to leave but she didn’t. I tilted my head toward her and eyed her questioningly. I mean I had driven her home like she’d asked; what more could she possibly want? What I saw was hesitance, her head bent down and her lips placed securely between her teeth. I sighed inwardly because it seriously wasn’t my job to make her feel better. “Is something wrong?” I asked almost bitterly.

“I can’t-“She looked away as if to hide what I assume were tears forming.

“I can’t…” She repeated as if she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Fuck me. “You can’t what?!” Her eyes widened and I quickly add “I mean seriously spit it out.”

“Nothing. I’m s-sorry. I’ll leave.”

I was surprised to hear her stuttering since I was used to sharp comebacks and angry glares. This wasn’t the Zoey I was used to. This Zoey was broken and there was something very off putting about yelling at her. I clenched my teeth to brace myself for what I was about to say. “No-” I pushed myself to finish. “You can stay at my house until your parents come home.”

I slid out and stared up at the sky as if searching for god. Why? I asked silently. I was caught off guard when Zoey fell into my side. I shook my head at her before sweeping her off her feet and into my arms. I wasn’t about to awkwardly, not to mention slowly, lead her to my door.

I avoided her eyes because I was afraid of what I might see. If she was crying I didn’t want to know; I was a real sucker for tears as you might have guessed with blondie. Once at the door I set her down to fish for my keys. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be home so it would be easy to hide Zoey until school let out.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

I rolled my eyes and ignored her. Instead I grabbed her arm and helped her upstairs to my room. I kicked some of the clothes scattered on the floor to the side realizing just how dirty my room really was. I scratched my head absently and closed my bathroom door.

“Your room is like a mini apartment.” She commented while looking around.

I nodded fighting the urge to snap. “Yeaaaaaaah. Well, don’t touch anything. I suggest you sleep or something…” I said and made my way toward the door.

“You’re not staying?” She asked franticly, almost alarmed.

“Did I say I was? I have things to do.” I smirked. “Unless you want to fuck. I’ll stay if that’s the case.”

Zoey contorted her face into one of disgust which is exactly what I was expecting. A little of the old Zoey was peeking through. “I didn’t think so.” I said and turned to leave.

“No, wait.” Her voice broke and caught my attention. I cursed myself for looking when I saw her bent over, tears running freely down her clear face.

I closed my eyes tightly. “Don’t cry, okay. I’ll stay just shut up.” I slumped down into my couch and for once wasn’t comfortable sitting in it. Zoey was still crying so my newly-found conscience was going crazy.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I whispered fiercely before making my way to her curled up form.

I lifted her chin feeling ever so cliché while doing so and wiped her tears away gently. “I told you to stop crying.” The tears didn’t stop though. Her face was flushed and her hair was sticking to her wet cheeks and god, all I wanted was for her to stop. “Please…” I started but faded hopelessly. I pulled her into me, holding her. Attempting at comfort even though I knew nothing of the word. “Zoey. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“E-everything…Everything is falling a-apart.” She managed to whisper. “A-and my parents h-hate me.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true.” I replied since it’s all I could think of saying. “Your parents love you.” I add for good measure.

“No they don’t! Ryland. They. Hate. Me.” She repeated but this time without the stutters. I looked down at her shaking body and for once felt as if I wanted to… take away whatever pain she was feeling. Didn’t want to hurt her but didn’t know how not to.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “I can’t really cook but I can make soup or see what we have in the fridge.”

I felt her tense as she shook her head against my chest and squeezed my shirt. “Zoey, you have to eat.”

“No.” She said flatly. “I’m not hungry.”

What have I done to her?