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The day went by. I got lunch with Brett at the student union, mostly so he could have his choice of real food—the man got a heaping salad and some Chinese food from the panda place—and once the day was done, it was time to go back home.
Needless to say, I wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Thank fuck you thought of the rec,” Brett spoke. It was a warmer day, so he had his window down. He ran his hand through his brown hair, exhaling a slow, drawn-out breath. “I was starting to stick to everything I touched.”
I shot him a look. Please. The middle of summer, when it was humid as heck, was the only time I might’ve believed that. Now, he was just being silly.
“What? I’m serious,” he went on, really digging into it, “Iwassticking to everything. Speaking of which, I think it’s time to wash the blankets in the treehouse. They’re getting a little stiff—”
I lifted my eyebrows at that.
“—from the sweating,” Brett deadpanned. “Ew. Get your mind out of the gutter, Charlie.”
Even though we were headed home, where Uncle Dave was surely waiting for me, I still found myself laughing at Brett. “You’re so stupid, you know that? You’re such a drama queen.”
“Take that back. I’m offended. If anything, I’m a drama king, thank you very much.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. You’re a dramaking.”
“Hmm. Now that I’m hearing you say it, it just doesn’t have the same ring to it as drama queen. But whatever. My feelings are still hurt that you’d call me that.” He wore his sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but I bet their blue hue was lively and amused. “I think you should apologize to me.”
“I just did!”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t heart behind it. Apologize to me again, once more with feeling. Action.” Brett acted as though he was a director and I was his actress, a sly smile on his face as he watched me from behind his glasses.
I laughed again. “I can’t with you.”
“Oh, but you can. And you have. And you probably will again, lots.”
When I threw him another look that time, I knew he meant something else, and even though it was old news now, my cheeks burned with heat. I chewed on the inside of my lip to stop myself from saying anything. Anything I might’ve said would only dig the hole deeper.
Brett’s smile widened, and he flashed me his perfect teeth. “You’re so adorable when you get flustered. Your cheeks get all pink and puffy, and you nibble on your bottom lip. Your nose kind of wrinkles, too.”
I stopped chewing on my lip and straightened out, my focus on the road before us. “I don’t do those things every time I get flustered.”
“You do.”
“Well, maybe it’s your fault for flustering me so much! You ever think of that, huh?” He didn’t respond right away, so I glanced at him, finding he’d taken off his glasses. The expression on his face was one of amusement, but also one of heavy-lidded desire.
“Feisty,” he mused. “I like it.”
It took all I had in me to scoff at him and mutter, “Stop.” Mostly because if he didn’t stop, I’d want to join him in the treehouse tonight. I didn’t know how many times I could tell everyone I was going for a walk without them getting suspicious.
I never went for walks. Never. That was not an exaggeration.
I dropped Brett off away from the house. He was able to juggle all the bags himself, thankfully. I was slow to pull into the driveway. I turned the car off and leaned back in the seat, taking a few moments to myself. My peripherals spotted Uncle Dave’s truck parked on the other side of the garage, where a short pull-off made of gravel was.
He was in that house. He was in my house. I needed to find some courage, because I had to show him that I wasn’t the same girl he was used to. I wouldn’t let myself be thrown back in time again. If he came at me, I’d…
Well, I could tell my parents, who would then either believe me or not. Even if they did, they’d definitely treat me differently. Make me go to therapy or something—and I didn’t want that. They’d tell Claire, who’d then tell Tyler, and in the end, basically my whole social circle would know for the rest of our lives that I’d been abused.
Or I could tell Brett, who’d kill him. I’d never have to worry about Uncle Dave again. I was certain Brett would figure out some story we could tell my parents as to why he’d vanished, and Brett would know exactly what to do with the body.
Of course, then Brett would know, and I didn’t want that, either.
I reached in the backseat to grab my backpack and then I got out, straightening myself as I headed to the front door. It was my house, but it didn’t feel like it right now, not with Uncle Dave here. It was like everything I’d tried to hide from had returned, and nothing I could do would change it.
Short of asking for a murder, anyway.
