Page 15 of The Way We Are

Ryan

Savannah pulls her car to the curb outside my family home before switching off the motor. I want to say our twenty-mile commute was brimming with conversation and mutual understanding. Unfortunately, that isn't the case.

Savannah hasn't spoken a word—not one. If she were the same girl I crushed on hard during middle school, I'd happily testify that she isn't mad, angry, or plotting my demise; she's merely deep in thought. But since I'm learning the Savannah I used to know is now a ghost, I keep my opinions as tightly locked as her lips.

I want to know what changed so dramatically in her life that her Friday night schedule switched from River Phoenix movie marathons to socializing with mafia kingpins at underground fight rings, but I don’t know how to bring that up without making things worse.

My anger has faded somewhat during commute, but it isn't gone. I might still try to blame some of tonight’s events on Savannah. But I don't want to do that because she's already carrying enough weight to last her a lifetime.

Deciding to use actions instead of words, I trail my index finger down her cheek. Although Col’s strike was brutal, the natural color of her cheek hides the evidence of his slap.

“God—Savannah. He shouldn’t have hit you... I should have stopped him...Heshould have stopped him.”

My words are hoarse, strangled by an equal amount of anger and remorse. I’m not angry at Savannah; I’m furious at both Axel and myself. I should have clutched his throat tighter. I should have beaten him to within an inch of his life just for threatening Savannah. But more than anything, I should haveneverbelieved his guarantee to begin with. He played on my belief that everyone is born with decency by showing me that they aren’t. He made me look like a gullible idiot.

“I’m sorry I put you in that situation. I just got so worked up trying to adjust Axel’s attitude, I forgot the real picture—”

“Stop, Ryan. Please stop,” Savannah interrupts, her tone so low my ears strain to hear her even though she's sitting inches from me. “You have no reason to apologize. None whatsoever.”

Her tongue darts out to replenish her bee-stung bottom lip before she raises her head. It feels like I’ve been sucker punched when our gazes collide. Although her eyes are as beautiful as ever, the poor street lighting can’t hide the shame clouding them, much less remorse.

“Don’t... Fuck, Savannah,” I blubber out when I spot tears looming in her dilated gaze. “Please don’t cry.”

Upon hearing my plea, more tears well in her eyes. I scrub my hand over the stubble on my chin, wishing I was better with words. Then I wouldn’t look like a fumbling idiot for the second time tonight.

“This isn’t your fault. Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.” My jaw muscle spasms, my words too haunting for my body not to react.

When a rogue tear shimmers on Savannah’s cheek, I brush it off. Her breath fans my skin when my finger lingers over a pair of lips I imagine every night before going to sleep. Her mouth is as pillowy as a cloud. If I regret anything the past five years, it's not cherishing every perfect feature of her face. I always assumed she’d be there—until she wasn’t.

“Leave him, Savannah. Walk away before he convinces you nights like tonight are normal,” I plead before I can stop my words.

Savannah presses her lips together before shaking her head. “I can’t,” she whispers, the honesty in her eyes the biggest tell-all. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

My anger jumps from a simmer to a slow boil. “Why can’t you?”

I ball my hands into fists, silently reprimanding myself for my stern tone. Words can’t damage your body like fists, but they are just as hurtful.I’ve learned that the hard way the past five years.

“If he has hurt you once, he’ll hurt you again,” I reason, hoping some of Savannah’s own words will influence her. She was only eleven when she said those exact words to my mom, but they stuck with me like glue.

When Savannah faintly nods, I place my hand under her chin and return her eyes to mine. “Has he hurt you?”

My core tightens, anticipating her reply to knock the wind from my lungs. Thankfully, it doesn’t. After her watery eyes bounce between mine for two heart-thrashing seconds, Savannah shakes her head. “No, he hasn’t.”

I release a raspy breath, both relieved and defensive. I want to believe her statement without a second thought—her candid eyes reveal her pledge is true—but there’s still some doubt in the back of my mind I can’t ignore.

Spotting my reservation, Savannah says, “The person you saw today, that wasn’t Axel. He’s not usually like that. Well, not around me anyway.” She fidgets with the hem of her shorts, taking a moment to contemplate the remainder of her defense.

“When Axel feels threatened, he acts out. That’s what you saw today. A boy who felt intimidated.” She drags her teeth over her bottom lip before whispering, “You make him vulnerable, Ryan. He feels threatened by you—by what we have.” She sits a little straighter in her seat before correcting, “By what wehad.”

It’s the fight of my life not to respond to her naivety with what I tell my mom every time she makes excuses for my dad. But considering this is the longest conversation we’ve had in five years, I figure it’s best to keep my mouth shut. It’s a fucking hard feat.

I wish drumming sense into people was as easy as grabbing their shoulders and shaking them three times, but sadly that isn’t the case. My mom has ten times more reasons to leave my dad than she has to stay, but she continues standing by his side, defending him with the same excuses Savannah just used. The chance of changing someone’s mindset is as unlikely as discovering your soulmate at the age of five, but it isn’t impossible. Savannah is proof of that.

I’ve been crushing on Savannah from the moment I saw her whizzing down our street on her hot pink bike with rainbow tassels taped onto her handlebars. I was so in awe that someone so tiny could ride without training wheels that I asked my mom to remove mine that very afternoon.

Savannah drew a rainbow heart on my cast the following day. From then on, we were inseparable. What wehadwasn’t just a childhood friendship. Wehad aconnection. Wehadmutual understanding. If I could make her see sense through the madness, we could stillhaveboth those things, and so much more.

“Can I show you something?” I ask Savannah, my tone nothing like the one I used earlier. This one is calm and controlled, the one I should have been using all along.

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