My Wrath is a Mirror | ONC 2022

Five

Perhaps it isn't such a good idea to accept Wesley's offer for a ride home. I should have called Loren, or gotten an Uber, because either of those options wouldn't involve me having to climb into Wesley's truck and sitting next to him in the freezing cold. He cranks the ignition and lets the engine heat up for a minute.

The blue glow of the dash lights reflect off his handsome features, and I quash the urge to reach out and smooth the crease from between his eyebrows. I know I've upset him, and he's too kind to admit it. But he doesn't understand—no one really understands that I can't stand being coddled, like I might fall apart any minute. I couldn't stand it all those years ago and I can't stand it now.

That was one of the best benefits of moving to a town where no one knew who I was. It was a fresh start without the cloak of darkness that always surrounded me in Reading. I know Wesley means well, but having him check on me every two minutes brings me back to the weeks after Kamryn died. He was there, always attentive. Too attentive, even when I didn't deserve it. When I'd been too broken to see anything good about this world, about our relationship, and let him fade into nothing but an ember deep in my heart. Then I'd left town.

Now even though that ember was barely there, it clearly still burned. Wesley's presence radiated warmth from the moment he pulled me up from my wrecked vehicle, and I'd wanted to lean into that warmth. That familiar goodness that's always been there. 

His dark brown hair has grown out since last I've seen him, the ends looping into adorable curls at his ears and the nape of his neck. His shoulders were always broad, but now he fills out a basic t-shirt in the most tantalizing way. When he punches the button for the seat warmers, he catches me staring at him and I'm too distracted by the hurt in his eyes to look away. It's like someone slid a hot knife between his ribs—that expression full of pain doesn't belong on his face. The thought that I caused such a look knocks the wind out of me.

"I'm sorry, Kamille," he blurts out, avoiding my gaze. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable, on top of what happened with us in the past. I don't want you to feel—" Wesley runs a hand through his hair. "I just want you to be happy." He looks at me with soft coffeebean eyes that pierce right through my armored heart.

"I'm not the same girl you remember, Wes, and you can throw away the kid gloves. I'm not as fragile as you think I was in highschool."

He leans back, surprised. "I don't think that at all. You were the strongest person I knew."

His words are both a warm hug and a dagger in my chest. Knew. He doesn't know me anymore. Whether it was just a slip of the tongue or if he said the words with purpose, it stings, and I realize that I want Wesley to know me again. But is it possible? Does he even want to know me now? There's so much to unpack here and I need time to think.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable, and thank you for everything you've done to help me out tonight." I swallow, and it takes everything in me not to break eye contact. "I don't think I would be okay at all if not for you being here."

He places a tender hand atop mine and squeezes, and I tell myself it's habit to turn my hand up into his and squeeze back. It feels so good. Grounding. I don't want to let go, but he pulls back and puts his truck into gear. "Let's get you home."

Mom freaked out like I thought she would, but being there in the flesh so she could wrap an arm around me lessened the blow. Even injured, she dotes on me all evening like a true mother hen, forcing me to drink a mug of hot chocolate before ushering me into the bath. It probably isn't wise to take the bandages off yet, so I just soak with my arms outside the tub for half an hour, until I have to call Mom to help me wash my hair. It's a disaster with her one good arm. My limbs are beginning to ache, and I make sure to take some Tylenol when I get out.