The Scars That Broke Her

Chapter 24

I don't know where Callan was taking me. I didn't ask. He could be taking me to Canada for all I know. But I didn't care, at least he wasn't taking me home. My fingers tugged anxiously against the rubber band around my wrist as stared out the window.

They don't care about you...they won't forgive you...Eli's words were a constant loop in my mind, refusing to let my thoughts waver away from them. They will all leave you...you're pathetic...I let out a shaky breath, swallowing down the pit of emotions at the back of my throat.

I couldn't lose control, not again.

The loud snap of my rubber band echoed over the hum of the car.

"I didn't know you were a professional pong player." Callan broke the silence, drawing my attention away from the window and pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced at him, my eyes taking a particular interest in the soft, kind, smirk his lips curved into. It seemed angry Callan had disappeared. Gentle and caring Callan was back, putting me immediately at ease.

I shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

He raised his eyebrow, gazing over at me for a brief second. "Yeah? Like what."

I hesitated for a moment. By answering his question, I would be going against everything. By answering his question, I would be putting myself at risk for another inevitable heartbreak that I didn't know I could handle. By answering his question, I would be breaking down my walls. I would be letting him in.

But what if I wanted to?

Callan was so warm. He was caring. He was tender. I was comfortable around him. He helped me feel things that I haven't felt since my mother got arrested. He's helped me feel safe. He helped me feel heard. He helped me feel all the things that Eli took away, that my mother and father took away. Callan has always looked at me with so much understanding. He didn't care about my past, he only seemed to care about my present. And that pulled me toward him like a magnet.

They won't forgive you...

I snapped my rubber band. Hard. Eli was right. There's a reason I don't have friends. There's a reason they all cut off ties with me. There's a reason I'm alone.

I cleared my throat, my gaze shifting back out the window. We had started down a neighborhood that I didn't recognize, but I assumed was Callan's. "I-I can't, Callan." 

Callan let out a sigh, his jaw setting in place. He looked irritated. And I didn't blame him. Every time he tried to get to know me, I shut him down. I would be beyond frustrated at this point too. But it didn't seem to matter how frustrated Callan got, because he always kept trying.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a quaint, single-story house. Yellow lights blaring through the large front windows lit up the cobblestone path leading to the front door. Through the windows I could make out the figure of a man and small child sitting at a table smiling and laughing.

For a moment, we sat in the car. I wasn't going to go in without Callan – it wasn't my house, that would be beyond weird – but I could tell Callan wasn't ready to go in yet. He stared ahead, his eyes focusing on a white mailbox a few feet ahead of us. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set. He was thinking.

Callan slowly moved his head away from the mailbox. He offered a small, tired smile before tilting his head toward the house. "Come on. Lets get some ice for your eye."

I nodded, grateful that he seemed to be waiting to express whatever was on his mind.

I followed Callan into his house, immediately taking note of the homey atmosphere. Everything about his house was warm and inviting. From the soft glow of lights radiating throughout the inside, the large open concept, and the crackling fireplace to the cheerful laughter that echoed down the hallway that contrasted the constant yelling heard in my house.