Fragile Little Things ✓

15 tracks

Jem

THE SKY TURNS TO CRUSHED BLUE VELVET as we near the tracks. The roads only get worse until we’re in the middle of a barren wasteland, dry and flat, stretching for miles into the dimly lit horizon.

I’ve made this trip around a dozen times, but that desperate, gnawing feeling that usually follows me the entire trip isn’t there this time. I have to drive torturously slow to avoid potholes, and a few people behind me got pissed, so I veer over and let them overtake. Honestly, I would drive a lot faster if it weren’t for Indigo.

She drifted off to sleep a half hour ago, and since it was getting colder, I hiked the windows up and lowered the music. When she still shivers, I had little choice but to haul my jacket from the back and throw it over her.

I’d never really been a demanding child. That’s what my mom says, anyway. She’d take me to the toy store and tell me to pick anything I wanted, anything at all, and I never knew what I wanted, or how to make up my mind. I grew up being the same person. Nothing has ever motivated me enough to want it that badly. But . . .

I turn to give Indie a quick glance. Even though she’s asleep, she’s somehow got a death grip on the empty soda cup that now houses her purple flowers—which she refused to set down since she rescued them from the side of the road, by the way.

She’s curled into herself now, and with her lashes splayed across her freckled cheeks, she looks even more angelic when she’s asleep. I have to clear my throat and force my eyes away from her.

She’s not yours, I remind myself. Yeah, she isn’t. Which is why this was the stupidest fucking idea I’ve had in a while. There’s this gaping hole in the center of my chest, and I hate it. I hate it.

This isn’t me. I don’t get attached this fast. I don’t want things.

We should’ve just remained strangers. At least that way, I’d be able to live in ignorance ­—without knowing that better things existed. And ignorance is bliss, right? I shake my head to myself. All the stupid shit people say to make themselves feel better when things go wrong.

Exhaling, I kill the engine, and as if on cue, Indie stirs. She makes a soft, disgruntled sound and blinks hard, pulling my jacket higher up. “Why did we stop?”

Her voice is still heavy with sleep, and I—fuck.

“We’re here,” I grunt, and because I need to get out of this damn car before I combust, I push my door open and step out. I don’t mean to slam the door shut, but it happens, and when I catch Indigo flinching in my periphery, I feel worse.

Sighing, I shove my hands deep into my pockets and take a few deep breathes. I need to refocus. I came here for the prize, and I’m leaving with it. I have no other choices left. Every second that rushes by is another second with the hospital bill racking up, and there’s not long to go before they stop tolerating my lack of payments.

We’re early, so the stands are pretty barren, and there are only a few stray people roaming the tracks, probably still busy setting up.

When I turn back to the car, I figure I really shouldn’t have, because I get a glance of Indie in the rear-view mirror— she’s pulling a green argyle sweater over her head. Her yellow floral dress from before is gone, which means I also get a pretty veritable view of her upper body . . . only in a white-lace bra.

At that precise moment, she looks up, and I don’t look away in time, so our gazes lock. Worse—she freezes, so instead of covering up, I get another agonizing second of watching her cleavage swell as her breathing quickens.