The Truth About That Summer

eighty-two

My fist still raised, every bit of air is crushed from my lungs as I scowl back down at Maya. At the fucking lie she just told me.

Because it must've been a lie. It must've been. There is no fucking way...

"What did you just say?" The words come out somehow despite the rushing in my ears, my mind, the dizzying effect of my entire world turning upside down.

Panting, Maya stares up at me blankly. "You heard me."

"You're wrong."

She's wrong.

Confusion, true lack of understanding, knits her brows together. "I watched him drive away myself."

It's like she's hit me, punched me right in the solar plexus, knocking every bit of breath from my chest. I gasp raggedly, desperately sucking in but feeling no relief in my lungs. It's like I'm choking, I can't think straight, I can't-

The restroom door slams open, metal door handle smashing into the plaster wall behind it, shocking me from my near panic attack.

"Jesus Christ!"

Luke and Jordan scramble over themselves into the ladies room, quickly disentangling Maya and me, pulling us apart. Jordan takes his sister away before I can ask anything more, and Luke's got me wrapped so tightly in his arms that I can't move.

"Dylan, what the hell is going on? Look at me, Dyl, talk to me." One hand moves from my waist to my face, patting my hair, checking for injuries. Searching for the last bit of my sanity.

Maybe I never really had it to begin with.

I want to sink into him, to let him make this feel okay. To let him make this make sense. Just being held by him almost eases some of the ache.

But it's not okay. It doesn't make sense. I don't, I can't understand, and I don't know what to do.

"Dylan, please talk to me, what's going on? What happened with Maya, Dyl?" Luke's eyes are pleading.

I can't... I feel sick. Like I'm going to throw up every carnival treat I had earlier. Like I might fall over and die right here. I can't breathe. The world sways slightly.

Maya knew.

"Dylan, please. Let's get you cleaned up at least, come on. Please."

Luke pulls me towards the sinks. I stare at him, the desire to melt into him hardening into a need to shove him away.

He knew, too.

"Don't touch me," I growl, using all my force to push against his chest, words burning with venom.

"What? Dylan," His touch is soft, his hands gentle.

"Let go of me, let me go!" I'm shouting, hitting his chest as he holds me tightly against him.

He knew.

He knew he knew he knew.

Tears blur my vision as I continue pummeling his chest, crying for him to let me go. I can't be here, I can't breathe, I need to leave. I kick at his legs when my fists don't work.

And then all at once, my body goes still.

My parents.

My parents definitely knew.

And they fucking lied.

"Let me go, Luke, let me fucking go!" The realization is like lightening in my veins, reigniting my body in an angry flurry of kicks and punches. But he won't let go, holding me too tightly, trying to keep me calm, keep me safe. "I need to talk to my parents. Let. Me. Go!"