Page 52 of Versions Of Us

“Look, we don’t have to talk about this. If it’s weird for you…” I begin.

“Kristen, no.” Chase cuts me off with the wave of his hand. “It’s not weird. You don’t have to feel like you can’t talk about him with me.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Look, I know things didn’t work out between us. But I’m always going to care about you.”

The ‘things’ Chase is referring to happen to be our failed attempt at a relationship. A couple of months after Henley had left, Chase declared his feelings for me. Turns out Liv wasn’t that far off the mark when she called it after seeing him at the Haven that day.

We’d gone on a few dates, which lead to a make-out session at his place. However, it lacked in heat, and we realised that we were ultimately better off as friends. It probably didn’t help that Henley was always there, in the back of my mind.

“I’m not going back to him,” I say, my tone defiant.

I don’t miss the way his shoulders slump with relief as I say this, as though all the tension in him depended on this confirmation.

“What you do is your choice,” he says, softly, his eyes kind. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I know,” I tell him, my lips curving upwards in a small smile. “You’re a good friend, Chase. But honestly, I’m not even sure that I’m the reason he came back.”

“He’d be crazy not to want you back. But if you ask me, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah,” I agree. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I know my worth. A huge part of me wants nothing to do with Henley, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t another part of me that’s drawn to him. A piece of my heart that will always belong to him. “I think I’m gonna skip the next lecture. My brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating a whole lot today.”

“That’s understandable,” Chase says sympathetically. “I can email you the cliff notes.”

“You’re the best, Chase. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I force a smile as I stand up, taking the remnants of my salad and throwing them into the trash can on the way to my car. I slump down into the driver’s seat and slide the key into the ignition.

When I attempt to start the car, it turns over repeatedly. I try again. And then again, but still the car won’t start.

Damnit. What else could go wrong?

“This fucking car!” I shout, slamming my hands onto the steering wheel.

This little 1994 Mazda has gotten me from A to B for the last six years. I was really hoping it would survive to get me through my degree, but lately it’s been showing signs of intense wear and tear. Ben had been warning me for the last month that something didn’t sound right under the hood. I really should have taken his advice more seriously.

I blow out a frustrated sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. “Please start,” I whisper, knowing how insane I am for pleading with a heap of metal. “Please, please, please.”

The key clicks in the ignition and I wait with bated breath until I finally hear the engine turn over. “Oh, thank God.”

I’m so grateful for the purring of the engine, I’m only mildly put off by the subtle tinkering undertones. All I really want to do is put on a pair of cosy pyjamas and crawl into bed with a good book.

I make it halfway home before I hear a clunk and a rattling sound coming from under the bonnet. A few seconds later torrents of steam spew upward from the hood, clouding my view of the road. I veer off to the side, coming to a dead stop.

God damn this car. It’s bad enough that the air con gave out on me last week. Now it’s rendered me stranded roughly ten kilometres from town on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I regret not taking Chase up on his offer to carpool with him to the university today. I could have avoided this situation entirely. Or at least prolonged it.

I exit the vehicle, stepping out into the heat. Somehow, it’s even hotter outside of the car, the humidity clinging to my skin. The sky has begun to darken overhead, a distant rumble of thunder warning of an imminent storm.

I lift the hood on this heap of junk that’s even older than I am, then circling the car I go to the boot and retrieve the old rag I keep for this very situation. I can’t wait till I can afford a reliable car. How much simpler life would be. I twist open the radiator cap.

No coolant.

I might not have had a father to teach me how to navigate these kinds of situations, but I picked up plenty of mechanical skills over the years from Steve and, more recently, Ben. This old bomb has a history of overheating. I know the drill.

I swipe the sweat off my brow with my forearm and bend over the bonnet. The car needs to cool off before I can replace the coolant. I guess I have no choice but to wait it out, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the increasing thunder.

Lightning strikes somewhere in the east. I reach through the unwound window into the passenger seat and retrieve my phone, hoping Ben might answer my call. No such luck. He’d probably be too busy at work to pick me up right now anyway.

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