I swallow my mouthful of cracker. “I don’t know. I didn’t realize I did it.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No... Not anymore. When we first met, I thought you were pretty scary, but now that I know you a little bit, no.”
He laughs. “You were pretty scared when I banged on your window. You jumped about a foot.”
“Ha ha.” I throw a cracker at him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out there.”
“Are you afraid I’m going to see you? If you let me look at you?”
“Um? What does that mean? What do you see when you look at me?” So yeah, this is one of those times when you ask someone to tell you something and even though you really, really want to hear the answer, you’re afraid to hear it, too. Because it might be bad. Or, it might be really good. But usually, it’s bad.
He’s staring at me with this head tilted, his hair falling across his face. “I see a beautiful, cute woman who lives in fear.”
“Fear? What the hell, Storm. Fear of what?”
“Hey, calm down. I think you’re afraid of intimacy, of letting yourself feel. I think you hide in things that are comfortable to you, like with Michael.”
“Are you kidding me? And you think you know all this about me after spending a day and a half with me in the backseat of a truck?” My voice is loud. Way too loud for the small area we’re sitting in. But who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. At all. “And I’m not hiding in Michael, dumbass.” Hiding! What does that even mean? “What the hell are you hiding, Storm? Wearing goddamn eyeliner?”
He nods his head slowly at me. “Touché,” he says.
We’re quiet for a few moments, and I feel bad for yelling at him and making fun of his guyliner. I tend to do that when I get mad. I lash out at people and make them feel bad. Then I feel terrible afterward. Usually.
“Storm, I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“It’s okay. Evie, it’s just you and me in here. You can let your walls down a little bit.”
“To be honest, Storm, I’m not used to talking about my feelings. Michael and I really don’t do that, I guess. I don’t think he sees me as you put it, but I don’t think many people really see each other at all. We see what we want to see and we show what we want to show. That’s just life.”
“You’re right. And I’m like that, too. I don’t get all involved with people usually, but we’re in a unique situation here, ya know? Like the normal rules and shit don’t apply. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“I know...”
He slips his hand into mine again. I feel like somehow handholding has become our thing. How odd is that?