Sweet Dandelion

I look up and through blurry eyes find him standing in front of the stall since I didn’t bother to lock it.

“Dani,” he breathes my name with worry. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. He steps fully into the stall in front of me. His large frame is overwhelming and blocks the view of the restroom. “I’ve got you.”

He crouches down and wraps his big strong arms around my small body.

“I’ve got you, Dani,” he repeats, holding me together.

I sniffle into his shirt.

He holds me tight and I close my eyes.

I silently wish he could hold me like this forever, his arms the glue for all my broken pieces.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Meadows! Wait, up!” I glance over my shoulder to find Ansel jogging after me. He comes to a stop beside me, exhaling a soft chuckle. “I told you I would take you home today. We have to get costumes. Did you forget?”

I press a hand to my head. “Y-Yeah, sorry, I did forget. I have a headache.”

I don’t actually, but I do feel exhausted. All I want to do is go home and crawl into my bed.

“Well, fuck.” His shoulders sag. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, canting his head to the side. “I can still take you home. It’ll be faster.”

“You really don’t have to.” I look away from him. It hurts to look into his carefree genuine smiling face when I feel the way I do.

“It’s not a big deal, Meadows.” He takes my hand, tugging me toward the student lot. I know if I said a flat out no, he’d let me catch the bus, but frankly I don’t want to be alone. Not that I’d be alone on a bus, per se, but I don’t know those people.

Ansel opens the passenger door for me and I set my backpack between my feet.

He gets in the car, the engine rattling to life. He doesn’t back out right away. He turns slowly to face me, his face etched with concern.

“Are you okay?”

His question catches me off guard, for some reason I’m not expecting it.

“Of course I’m okay.” The words splutter out of me in disbelief, like I can’t believe he’d think I’m not okay.

“Meadows,” he voices my name softly and takes my hand gently in his, “at the risk of being punched in the face, you don’t look or sound okay.”

It’s like his words break me and I burst into tears. They flood out of me, soaking my cheeks, and poor Ansel looks shocked.

“Fuck, do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “No, not here.”

“Where?”

“Take me home, please.” My voice cracks and I wipe madly at my wet cheeks, trying to dry up the evidence of my pain and suffering. It’s like subconsciously I think if I can hide it then it doesn’t exist.

Ansel backs out of the parking spot and gets in the line to exit the school lot.

It feels like it takes a whole week before he parks at the condo.

We head upstairs in silence as I ponder how I explain this—do I lie or give him the truth?

A lie would be easier, but also messy, and Ansel feels like a true friend. I shouldn’t lie to him. But the truth is scary.

I unlock the door and step inside, waiting for Ansel to join me. He looks around uneasily.