The days blurred into weeks, each one marked by stolen moments of freedom and laughter. For nearly a month now, Freen and Becky had slipped into a rhythm. Monday through Saturday, they explored the world together, breaking the monotony of Freen's life. Sundays remained untouched—reserved for the oppressive presence of Freen’s father.
At first, Freen had been careful to keep the truth about her home life hidden from Becky. But trust, like water, has a way of seeping through even the strongest walls. One late afternoon, after a particularly frustrating day at home, she had finally let it out.
---
Freen had been quieter than usual as they sat on a park bench, watching the clouds shift in the sky. Becky, sprawled out lazily beside her, had noticed the tension in her posture.
“What’s up with you today?” Becky had asked, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.
Freen hesitated, picking at the edge of her sleeve. She wasn’t sure how to start, how much to say. But when she glanced at Becky, something about the steadiness of her expression gave her courage.
“My father…” Freen began, her voice faltering. She looked away, focusing on a patch of dandelions swaying in the breeze. “He’s not... like your mom. He’s strict. Controlling. And... mean.”
Becky didn’t say anything, letting the words come at Freen’s own pace.
Freen exhaled shakily, finally meeting Becky’s eyes. “He doesn’t hit me or anything, but the way he talks… the way he looks at me sometimes, like I’m a disappointment just for existing... it’s suffocating.”
Becky’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She simply shifted closer, her presence a quiet reassurance.
“And Sundays…” Freen’s voice cracked. “I hate Sundays. He’s always home, watching me like a hawk. It’s like he’s waiting for me to mess up so he can scold me for it. I can’t even breathe properly.”
For a long moment, Becky remained silent. Then she said, simply, “That sucks.”
Freen blinked, startled by the bluntness.
“It really sucks,” Becky continued, her tone even. “But it’s not your fault, Freen. And it’s not okay, no matter what he thinks.”
The weight of those words hit Freen harder than she’d expected. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear them.
---
Since that day, Becky hadn’t pried. She hadn’t pushed Freen to share more than she was comfortable with, nor had she offered hollow promises of fixing everything. Instead, she just… showed up.
Becky’s mother, too, had quietly stepped into the role of a confidant. One afternoon, while Becky had been out running an errand, Freen had found herself in the kitchen with Mrs. Armstrong, helping to frost a batch of cupcakes.
“You’re always welcome here, you know,” Mrs. Armstrong had said, her voice warm and kind.
Freen had smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude.
---
Nam and Kate remained in the periphery of their little world. Freen saw them occasionally, but their interactions were brief and superficial. Becky, on the other hand, had grown more protective of Freen around them, though she never explained why.
“Don’t annoy her,” Becky had told Nam and Kate one afternoon when they’d tried to tease Freen about something trivial.
Nam had raised an eyebrow but hadn’t pressed the matter. “Alright, alright. Chill, Becky.”
Kate had smirked but backed off too. Freen appreciated the gesture, even if she didn’t fully understand why Becky cared so much.
---
On Saturdays, they often ended up at Becky’s house. It had become Freen’s sanctuary—a place where she could breathe freely, surrounded by warmth and laughter. Becky’s mother always made her feel at home, involving her in baking, gardening, or even just sitting around chatting about random things.
“She really likes you, you know,” Becky had said once, watching Freen and her mom talk animatedly about different types of flowers.
“She’s amazing,” Freen had replied earnestly, her heart aching with the realization of how different her life could have been with a parent like that.
---
As the month went on, Freen began to notice subtle changes in herself. She smiled more, laughed more freely, and even found herself standing a little taller. Becky’s unwavering presence gave her strength she hadn’t known she had.
But Sundays were still difficult. Every week, Freen braced herself for the suffocating routine of cleaning, cooking, and enduring her father’s dismissive remarks.
The one solace was that, come Monday, Becky would be there again, waiting to whisk her away into a world that felt a little brighter every day.
---
One Saturday afternoon, as they lounged in Becky’s living room, Freen felt a wave of gratitude so strong it almost overwhelmed her. Becky was sprawled on the couch, her long legs stretched out lazily, while Freen sat cross-legged beside her, watching the sunlight play on the walls.
For a moment, Freen hesitated, biting her lip. Then, unable to hold back, she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around Becky’s waist, pressing her face into Becky’s chest.
Becky stiffened in surprise. “Uh… Freen?”
“Just let me, please,” Freen whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, but... thank you for everything.”
Becky didn’t say anything, but her body relaxed slightly. Freen tightened her hold, letting herself feel the safety and warmth of Becky’s presence.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt truly, undeniably safe.
YOU ARE READING
A Gentle Collision
ActionBecky is an 18-year-old introvert whose sharp words cut deeper than her silence. Living with her kind-hearted mother in a modest home supported by their family's restaurant, Becky has little interest in the world beyond her headphones and mobile scr...
