Page 35 of Collided

I’m making her anxious, which is something Ineverwant to do. I want her to be comfortable with me, like I am with her. But I can’t ignore the fact that someone put their hands on her.I just fucking can’t.

She won’t tell me and if I push her she might end up crying. I don’t know how to deal with crying girls.

However, something tells me if she cries, I’ll calm her down anyway.

“Address,” I ask in a low tone.

She rambles off her street and looks out of the window.

The playfulness from earlier is gone—all because of me. I asked her something she clearly didn’t want to talk about.

How the fuck am I supposed to overlook that? I know what I saw. Those were fucking finger marks. Someone tried to choke her.

My heart drops in my stomach when I think there could be more under her turtleneck. Someone did worse than—

Shut the fuck up. You need to back off.The warning blinks in red light with sirens blaring in my ears.

I need to back off. She is nothing to me.

I pull up to her block and drive down until she tells me to stop.

Grabbing her bag, she escapes my car like I’ll kill her if she spends an extra second with me.

I’d never hurt her.If only she knew.

Hurrying up the stairs, she slips inside the house without looking at me.

I stay outside and listen to the silence, just to make sure she’s okay. Then drive to my house.

9

Hope

CLOSING MY EYES, I LET OUT A HEAVY SIGH.

I can’t believe Heath saw the marks. I wore the turtleneck to hide them, and he still ended up seeing them.

He was livid. His eyes darkened and the lines in his face hardened. He looked like he was one step away from strangling someone to death. All because he saw the marks on my neck.

I wonder what he’d do if I told—

I can’t.

I barely know the guy.

Also, I don’t want anyone to know. No one would understand. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it myself.

I hate that I messed up. He saw the marks and now he’s suspicious. I don’t know how to answer him the next time he asks me questions.

I’m scared, confused, and in constant fear that Dad will return, and things will be widely different. This time, I’ll be his target.

I still can’t believe he was here. I thought he was gone for good.

Stepping into the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror and pull down the collar. The marks are there. Tears build up in my eyes and I clutch my stomach to swallow a gut-wrenching sob.

Five minutes later, I wipe my cheeks, wash my face, and tie my hair in a messy bun.

Breakdown time is over.

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