Every Little Thing

33

|| Evelyn ||

If there's one thing I know for sure in the midst of this fiasco, it's that Reed Bishop is quite literally my favorite person on earth right now.

I watch him with one eye open, my cheek pressed into the backseat of his minivan, observing the way his fingers are thrumming nervously on the steering wheel. His eyes, blue and attentive, dart from the road to the rearview mirror repeatedly. His brows pucker every few seconds, like he's concentrating extremely hard on something that he doesn't want to forget about.

"Five more minutes," he says now, voice tight and nervous. "Just hang on for five more minutes, okay?"

Okay, I try to say, but the word won't move past my lips. It comes out a slight gurgle, sounding as if someone has decided to tear my voice right out of my chest. Reed's eyes go wide in shock.

"Alright, um, don't try to talk. Just—just hang on."

So I do. I hang on, all the way down a few winding, unfamiliar roads that weave through several subdivisions until we're on a gravel path, like a driveway of sorts. The impact jostles me nearly out of the seat, and Reed grimaces.

"Yeah. Forgot to warn you about that."

It's fine, I try to say, but again, there's nothing but a throaty growl. Panic starts to make its way through me, hot and uncomfortable. I can't speak. I can't move.

I can't remember.

And it's true. After Greg had me by the throat against that pantry wall, I blacked out. When I finally came to, he was gone. The only evidence that he'd even been there was his beer bottle, set aside on the counter, sitting perfectly upright and hardly touched. I remember thinking how unfair it was, that the bottle was there to witness everything that happened, and yet it wasn't even harmed.

I remember feeling the pain, the dull ache spreading from my throat to my collarbone to my arms and wrists. I felt the pain pulsing through me like a tangible thing, like a drumbeat, or a heavy footfall against pavement.

And then there was Reed, opening the door by the time I'd managed to pull myself up into an upright position. I must have looked like a mess, sitting there with my makeup smeared and hair tangled and bruises as far as the eye could see. I must have looked like the biggest basket case in the world, and yet—

And yet he still helped me. He still held me there on the floor and let me cry. He still waited an hour for me to calm down. He still carried me out to his car.

Reed Bishop still accepted me, even when he found me stranded and nearly-strangled on the tile flooring of some kid's pantry.

I want to thank him, but I don't know how. Honestly, I don't even know how I'm still managing to breathe at this point. If it weren't for Reed, I would still be sitting there, alone. I wouldn't have had the strength to face the outside world without him.

"Okay, Evelyn," he breathes, finally bringing the car to a stop. "We're at my house. I'll carry you inside, and then we'll figure out what to do."

I hear the fear in his voice, and I wish I could make it disappear. I wish I could tell him not to be scared. I wish I could tell myself not to be scared.