A Gentle Collision

Chapter 8

Freen hesitated at the edge of the driveway, her stomach twisted in knots. The soft hum of laughter and conversation drifted through the air, mingling with the warm glow of lights strung across the backyard. From where she stood, she could see parents chatting, kids running around, and a table laden with food. It was lively, welcoming even—but it only made her feel more like an intruder.

Her father’s words replayed in her mind: Don’t embarrass me. They weighed on her like a chain around her neck as she smoothed her dress and took a tentative step forward.

She felt every pair of eyes on her as she walked into the backyard. In reality, no one was staring, but the weight of her self-consciousness made it feel that way. Freen glanced around nervously, unsure where to go or what to do.

“Hi, Freen!” a cheerful voice called out.

She turned to see Becky’s mother approaching her, wearing an apron dusted with flour and the warmest smile Freen had seen in years.

“Thank you for coming, dear,” Becky’s mother said, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “I’m so glad you could make it. You must be hungry—help yourself to anything on the table.”

Freen nodded mutely, managing a small, polite smile. The kindness in the woman’s voice made her chest ache. She muttered a soft “thank you” and moved toward the food table, keeping her head down.

The scene around her was foreign. Parents doting on their children, offering them plates of food, brushing crumbs off their clothes—it was something Freen had only ever seen on TV or in books. Her own father’s harsh, cold demeanor felt like an entirely different universe compared to this warmth.

Her eyes stung unexpectedly, and she blinked rapidly, pretending to study the dishes on the table. Every time she saw a father laughing with his child or a mother fussing over a scraped knee, the ache in her chest deepened. She didn’t belong here.

Before she could retreat entirely, Becky’s mother appeared at her side again. The woman must have noticed Freen’s unease, her fidgeting hands and darting eyes.

“Sweetheart, if you’d like, you can head inside to relax for a bit,” she offered gently. “My daughter’s room is upstairs, second door on the left. I’m sure she won’t mind. It’s quieter there.”

Freen hesitated, feeling conflicted. The idea of escaping the crowd was tempting, but she also didn’t want to intrude. Becky’s mother, however, wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Go on, dear,” she said kindly, patting Freen’s arm. “I’ll let Becky know you’re coming up.”

Reluctantly, Freen nodded and made her way toward the house. Her steps were cautious as she climbed the stairs, the muffled sounds of the party fading with each step. When she reached the second door on the left, she paused, staring at it for a moment before raising her hand to knock.

“Yeah?” a voice called from inside, curt and impatient.

Freen pushed the door open slightly, peeking in. Becky was sprawled on her bed, headphones around her neck, scrolling through her phone. Her eyes flicked up to meet Freen’s, and her brows furrowed in annoyance.

“What do you want?” Becky asked bluntly, sitting up.

Freen hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Your mom said I could…” she trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper.

Becky sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t mess with my stuff.”

The rudeness stung more than it should have, and Freen took a cautious step inside, closing the door softly behind her. She stood awkwardly by the wall, feeling completely out of place.

Becky looked up again, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna stand there all night?”

The words were sharp, and Freen’s chest tightened. She clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry. Becky noticed the change in her expression but said nothing, waiting for an answer.

Finally, Freen whispered, more to herself than to Becky, “Father’s venom is enough… please, not you too.”

The words were quiet, but the room was silent enough for Becky to hear them clearly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her phone slipping from her hands onto the bed.

“What did you just say?” Becky asked, her tone different now—less sharp, more curious.

Freen’s head snapped up, panic flashing across her face. “Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head.

But Becky didn’t look convinced. Her sharp gaze lingered on Freen, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn’t known existed.

“Sit down,” Becky said abruptly, nodding toward the chair by her desk. It wasn’t a friendly invitation, but it also wasn’t as hostile as her earlier tone.

Freen hesitated but eventually sat, still avoiding Becky’s gaze. The room was tense, filled with unspoken questions neither of them seemed ready to voice.

For now, Becky let the silence stretch, but her curiosity was undeniable. Freen, however, was determined to say no more.

The muffled sound of laughter and chatter from the backyard filtered through the window, but inside Becky’s room, it felt like an entirely different world—one filled with walls neither girl was ready to break down yet.