Cuts and Bruises

Chapter Sixteen

Oh MY, ANOTHER chapter? I'M ON A ROLL

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I had to admit, driving in Vincent's practically brand new car was much better than any alternative way of getting home. But that was about the only positive thing about the fact that he was coming home with me.

I spent the beginning of the day in shock by myself for letting Vincent come home with me. I even tried calling him to tell him not to come, but every time I thought we were making progress, he would say, "Okay, I'll see you later to pick you up." 

And now, after a lot of denial and pep talks to myself, I was finally in the passenger seat of his car, letting my stare zone out on the immaculate dashboard. The sound of his door popping open finally tore my gaze away and toward his door, where Vincent appeared balancing two coffees while he opened the door. 

"Here you go," He hands me one of the coffees with a slight smile. 

I grab it with a silent smile as a thank you, letting my hands curl around the warmth of the cup. For some reason, it reminded me of the warmth of Vincent's hand last night, when it was intwined in my own. 

"Sorry about the wait," Vincent excuses as he shuts his door. "The woman in front of me was ordering for the entire PSU student body." 

"I hope they have a cup carrier large enough for that," I quip back. 

Vincent's smile stretches as he gives me a sideways glance. "I think I saw one in the back." 

I lift my coffee to my lips and glance out the window as Vincent starts pulling out of the parking lot and, once again, get lost in the idea that he was coming home with me. Thanksgiving break wasn't for another two weeks, but we had decided to miss a few days of class so I can go home to be with my mom and brother for even a little bit of time. 

I had no idea what to expect when I got there. So far this semester, things hadn't been horrible for Danny. He had his ups and downs, of course, but for the most part, he seemed better than last year, when the cancer had gotten the best of him. Last year was the hardest year; he was constantly in pain, weak, pale, and upset. He finally had life back in him. 

"So did I really see your PT bag in the trunk, or was I imagining things?" Vincent questions from the drivers seat. 

I glance at him and conjure up a small smile. "You weren't seeing things. We need to keep your routine on track," I explain. "I think you should be okay by the Thanksgiving football game." 

And just like that, I see his eyes light up. "Really?" 

When I see his eyes light up, my smile widens, but it shortly after becomes forced. What if all this time, Vincent had just shown interest in me because his real passion was on hold? What if everything changes when he starts playing football again?

I gulp to try to push down the newfound lump in my throat and mumble, "Really."

The inexplicable feeling hit me all at once when the thought entered my mind. Somehow, in the last few weeks, I had gotten closer to Vincent than I ever thought possible; somehow, I no longer hated him, but instead wished for his company. He had weaseled his way into my life and made all my perceptions about him completely change, and I had no idea when it happened. 

But now that it had, the mere thought that he had only been kind to me as a mere pastime before he was able to get back on the field crushed me. 

I had let him in quicker than I had ever let anyone in before. There was a constant wall between me and everyone else, one that I had built up after years of suffering and sadness. It was my very own defense mechanism, one to keep people at bay so I didn't have to be so heartbroken if they left my life the way my father had years ago, or feel so deeply hurt if something had happened to them.