My Lifeline

7

The car is too clammy and hot for me to breathe in, but I'm too terrified to move my hand an inch to crack open a window. My body is stiff and frozen, my eyes focused solely on the road ahead.

I'm not used to being in such a close proximity of another person. It's even more nerve wracking that that person is William Stanley.

We're complete opposites with hardly anything in common. He's been a troublemaker all throughout school, I've been the invisible girl who refuses to talk. He's loud, I'm quiet, he's angry, I'm numb.

Will is leaning his head against the window and staring out at the buildings and people who we pass. His eyes are tired and his eyebrows are no longer furrowed like they usually are. I can't tell whether he's tired, sad, or calm.

"Don't you drive?" I ask, finally building the courage to fill the horrifying awkward silence.

Will turns his head to look at me. "I've got my license, I'm still saving up to buy a car."

I nod my head, struggling with what to say in response. "...Do you have a job?"

He closes his eyes and nods his head. "I work at the arcade. Do you work?"

I shake my head and bite down on my bottom lip, nibbling at the skin until it stings. "Not at the moment. I think I'll wait until I finish sixth form before I get a job."

"Why?"

Because I won't be around for long. There's no point. Everything I'm currently doing is useless.

"I don't think I could handle both sixth form and a job," I half lie. The pressures would definitely get to me and corrupt my mind even more.

"Fairs," he sighs.

I don't understand him. His mood changes every second, and it's difficult to keep up with. One minute he's angry, the next he's playing up and acting cheeky, then he's tired and barely communicating, and then he's all smiles and he's cracking jokes.

What one is the real him?

"How come you're so quiet all the time?" Will suddenly asks.

My face drowns in a deep shade of red for a reason I don't know. I gulp while I shrug my shoulders, suddenly feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

"How come you're so loud?" I stutter while asking, which only causes my flushed face to worsen.

He smirks. Loudly. And then he covers his mouth to stop himself from laughing, like I'm some sort of comedian who has dry humour.

"If you're not loud, who's going to listen?"

I take my eyes off the road for a split second to scan over his face and search his expression for any hint of humour, but he was being genuine. In fact, he seems a little hurt by his own response.

"Why do you want people to listen?" I ask before I can stop myself.

I think I'd like people to listen to what I have to say, but honestly? I don't think anyone would care about what I have to say. I never come up with anything interesting, even I bore myself. The things I think of are quiet morbid, and I don't want to bring down the mood for anyone else, I don't want to pass my bad thoughts over to them. Sometimes it's a good thing that I'm so quiet, otherwise the people around me would soon shrivel up and die of exhaustion. I would turn their colourful world's grey.

Better to suffer in silence than to hurt them.

Will takes a moment before he answers, like he's really thinking about it. "Because if no one listens, then I'll only have myself."