"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
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Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best friend.
She's quiet...
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The hum of the engine fill the silence between us, an invisible wall that neither of us seem willing to break. I watch the sunlight stretch across the nearly empty streets. Considering how chaotic New York usually is, for a Saturday afternoon, it seems rather peaceful. I watch the city continue to pass by in a blur. The world outside feels normal, untouched by the storm raging inside my head. But in here—in the confined space of Jackson's car—everything feels too close.
Jackson hasn't muttered another word since the parking lot incident. A few glances in my direction, a clipped response when I thanked him for letting me stay last night—but nothing more. He is acting like it never happened. Like he hadn't showed up at the right time, saved me again, and carried me back to his apartment. Like he hadn't let me stay, like I hadn't fallen asleep in his bed.
And now we are back to awkward silence, just like before.
I shift uncomfortably, crossing my legs in the seat. The quiet isn't the comfortable kind. It's thick, like fog settling over the ocean before a storm, and I can feel the weight of it pressing against my chest.
"Thanks for the ride," I mumble in a desperate attempt to break the quiet.
Jackson's hands flex on the steering wheel, his arm stiffening. "Yeah."
That's it. Just yeah.
I exhale, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. Never in a million years did I picture myself in this situation. Not after the whole incident two years ago, and especially not after the argument we had earlier this week.
"This is weird," I mutter, half to myself.
A sigh comes from beside me. "Yeah."
I turn my head to look at him. It has only been a couple hours around him and he is already annoying me again. I furrow my brows in a pout.
"Are you just going to 'yeah' your way through this conversation?" I ask, my tone laced with sarcasm.
His lips twitch slightly, the familiar smirk almost showing itself, but he doesn't take the bait. Instead, he reaches forward and turns on the radio, letting the soft hum of music fill the car.
It helps. A little.
I pull at a loose thread on my sleeve, watching as his fingers effortlessly drum the beat of the music on the steering wheel. The tension between us is unbearable, coiling tighter with every second of silence spoken between us. I can't take it anymore.
"You don't have to act like last night didn't happen." I say, my voice coming out quieter than I expect it to. I quickly glance over at him, and to my luck, he continues to look straight ahead as if he doesn't notice.
