Two lives.

03. beneath the silence

We jumped into the car and sped away, the silence inside almost suffocating, as if the very air was holding its breath. The same eerie quiet that had crept in when we arrived at the party now clung to us, heavier, as we fled from that man. Fear had etched itself into each of us, and the tension was palpable.

Luke sat in the passenger seat in front of me, fiddling with his fingers. It was hard to tell if it was the remnants of whatever drugs he had taken or the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but he couldn't sit still. His hands twitched, his knee bounced up and down.

Bryson, behind the wheel, was a stark contrast. He stared ahead into the dark, his eyes fixed on the empty road as though it held all the answers. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight, his knuckles had turned white, the veins bulging against his skin. His back was rigid, pressed straight up against the seat, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.

Mel and Kayla, sitting in the back, were lost in their own worlds. Kayla gnawed at her nails, something she only did when she was truly nervous—an unsettling sight, because Kayla never got nervous. Whatever had just happened at that party had shaken her, and that told me everything I needed to know about how bad things were. I couldn't see Mel's face, but her posture, the way she slouched against the door, screamed exhaustion. She just wanted to go home. We all did.

Adrien sat in the corner, pressed against the window. He hadn't moved since we got in, so still I thought he might have fallen asleep. But I knew better. He was in shock. Adrien always freaked out about the smallest things, so this—whatever this was—was probably more than he could handle. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't leave his house for a week after tonight.

I think we all wanted to say something, but no one dared break the silence. What do you even say after something like that? I sure didn't know. Then Kayla, always the one to step up, finally spoke, pulling us out of our collective daze.

"What the hell even happened?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with that motherly concern she always had. It wasn't judgment—it was genuine worry mixed with curiosity.

Luke cleared his throat, his voice shaky as he spoke. "Chris was drunk... he ran through the fireworks and knocked them all over," he said, his eyes fixed straight ahead, like he was replaying the whole chaotic scene in his mind.

"What a fucking idiot," I muttered under my breath, anger bubbling up.

Adrian, sitting beside me, wasn't as quiet about his frustration. "Me and Sienna almost fucking died," he spat, his voice tight with lingering panic.

"Did anyone actually get hit by the fireworks?" Mel asked, glancing around at us, her eyes wide with concern.

Kayla smirked slightly before answering, "Liam Turner got hit."

Her tone was almost too casual, considering the situation, but I knew why. Liam was her ex—the one we all despised after the way he treated her. There was a twisted sense of satisfaction in her voice.

"Wait, seriously?" Bryson asked from the driver's seat, taking a quick glance in the rearview mirror. For the first time all night, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Hold up, he's not dead, right?" I blurted out, panic rising in my chest. "We could get charged with murder for that!"

Kayla waved it off. "Nah, he's fine. Barely even a burn. I checked."

Her nonchalance eased some of the tension, but I could still feel the unease hanging in the air. None of us were quite ready to shake off the night's events.

"What now?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I can't go home. My mom thinks I'm staying the night at Kayla's, and Mel's mom thinks she's at my place." Anxiety crept in as I imagined us wandering around town until morning, trying to figure out where to go.