nefelibata (n.) | ✔️

seventeen.

Present. October 6th, 2018.

I'm currently sitting in Carson's car, wrapped up in two of his blankets and shivering to no end. When he offered me one of his hoodies, it took me a solid minute of internal debating for me not to accept. He pulled me into his car, and when I tried to secure he told me he wouldn't let me walk home like this, I guess he's right. I'm already freezing cold.

I'm still drenched but the heat flooding the car makes it a bit better. Carson ran inside to let Lenny know where he was going and said he'd come back out to drive me home. I don't want to go home, though. I guess the tough thing about having no friends is that when you're in a situation like this, you have nowhere to go.

My heavy breathing picks up as the anxiety of going back to my house overwhelms me. I try to slow it down by clutching onto something and breathe, but it doesn't work. I clench my eyes shut and count in my head. One. It's okay, you're okay. Two. You probably won't even see her tomorrow. Three. It's okay, you're okay.

The driver side door swings open and Carson rushes in, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, time to get you home." He smiles, but it quickly fades when he notices my panicked state. "What's wrong? Lena? What is it?"

I relax my face as I continue repeating that I am okay in my head, drilling the word in my mind so maybe it will stick. "N-nothing. I'm good, just drive." Why would I tell him to drive? That's the last thing I want.

"You and I both know that you don't want me to put my foot on the gas." He says matter-of-factly. He turns to me and lets me see a whole display of the concerned look on his face.

"What?" I ask, annoyed at his analyzing.

"You don't have to, but if you want to talk; if you want to tell me what's wrong, I'm right here." He responds,  calmly. "And to be fair, you can't tell me that everything is fine considering I just found you crying in the middle of a storm."

My breathing steadies, and I look into his eyes, searching for something. I'm not exactly sure what. I try my best to block out the part of me that wants to spill my guts and tell him everything, but it doesn't work. There's something about him, something that just makes you want to trust him. Something that makes you really want to believe that he cares.

"My mom," I say quietly. So quietly that Carson moves closer to me. "she and I don't get along." I prevent myself from letting my voice quiver. I hardly ever cry, let alone in front of people. The only times I cry are from movies or mothers, occasionally a really good book.

He's silent. He waits for me to continue patiently, but he isn't demanding that I go on. He's just silent and steady. There's no trace of judgment or annoyance written anywhere on his face, so I continue.

"We've had a lot of, um, falling outs but this one just hit me hard I guess," I keep my eyes away from his, looking down at my hands in my lap. "It was too much for me, so I just had to get out of the house." My thumbs fiddle with each other as I wait for his response, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry, Lena. You deserve more than that." How could he think I deserve more? He doesn't even know what happened.

"I don't deserve more. Don't say that. I'm just an ordinary person getting their fair share of shitty situations."

"No, you're not, even if you tried your hardest you'd never be an ordinary person. Besides, that's what I like about you." He cracks a small smile, and I return it, shaking my head. "Even if you were an ordinary person, you don't deserve to be crying due to your mother. Yes, shitty situations happen every day, but problems with parents are the worse problems." I get the feeling that he's speaking from experience, but I don't push him on it. "Oh, and just because other people go through shitty things too doesn't mean that you don't have the right to feel shitty."