Tied (All Torn Up 2)

I read the text back to myself, and I’m afraid I sound like a weirdo.

Holly: Its hard to explain.

Tyler: You explained it perfectly. Now I understand.

I let out a small breath of relief.

Tyler: I get another question

Holly: Okay.

I brace myself for what could be next. I had no idea texting could be so stressful.

Tyler: Do you want to see Poppy tomorrow?

Smiling, I type back quickly:

Holly: Does Poppy want to see me?

Tyler: You can’t answer a question with a question. It’s in the texting rulebook.

Ah, he has a sense of humor.

Holly: I would like to see Poppy

Tyler: He says to be ready at noon. That a good time?

Holly: Yes

Tyler: We’ll pick you up :-)

Still smiling, I keep my eyes on the screen, waiting to see if he sends something else. How do people end texts? Am I supposed to say goodbye? Send another smiley face? Send a different face? I fall asleep with the phone in my hand and dream of sky-blue eyes.

16

Tyler

This lost girl with the stormy eyes has become my caffeine, my morphine, my new drug of choice. I can no longer get through a day without a shot of her, whether it be seeing her or just a simple text message. And like any addiction, as much as I enjoy it, I know it’s something that I can’t do forever, and I’ll eventually have to quit it and forget it.

For the past month we’ve texted and had random conversations in the garage while I work, and she’s become the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had in a long time. With each day that’s passed, I’ve noticed little changes in her. Her confidence has grown. She smiles and laughs more. She’s developed her own style. She reminds me of how Boomer was when I first found him, so scared and timid at first, afraid of me getting too close to him. Slowly, over time, he learned to trust me and grew attached to me. I realize that was a mistake on my part because it prevented him from going out and living a normal fox life.

I can almost feel the same thing happening with Holly, because as much as I want to see her go off on her own, move to New York, and do amazing things with her life, I’m going to miss the hell out of her.

I’m selfish as fuck. I want to keep her all to myself.

Finders, keepers…

Right now she’s burning the shit out of my clutch and giving me whiplash while I try to teach her how to drive my old pickup, and I can’t even be mad because she looks so cute and serious in the driver’s seat, barely able to reach the pedals or see over the steering wheel.

“Aren’t there easier cars?” she asks as she stalls it again on the dirt road and both our heads slam forward. My inner mechanic groans.

“Yeah, an automatic, but I don’t have one.”

“Maybe having other people drive me around wasn’t so bad after all,” she says, trying to start the truck again.

“You’re doing great.” I try to make my voice sound reassuring. “You’re going to pass that test.”

I hate this shit of her parents not letting her have a car or wanting her to have a cell phone. I can’t wrap my head around what they think they’re accomplishing. Making her walk or take a taxi everywhere is in no way safer than driving, and if they think it is, they’re out of their damn minds. The more she tells me about them, the more I don’t like or understand them. It’s almost like they want her to continue to be secluded.

She doesn’t know it, but I already have a car for her, waiting in the parking lot of my brother’s motorcycle shop. It’s just a little all-wheel-drive SUV with about ninety thousand miles on it, but it’s clean and dent-free, and it runs good. If she’s moving to New York, she won’t need a car anyway, from what I gather, but at least while she’s here, she’ll be able to get around like the adult that she actually is. In the meantime, I don’t want to think about her moving to New York because it makes me feel ragey.

“I think without this clutch thing I might be okay,” she says, almost sideswiping the corner of the garage with the side mirror as she parks. I nod and rub the back of my neck, which is starting to ache from the constant jerking of the truck. Seeing her smile and learn something new makes it worth it, though, and it reminds me of when my father taught me how to drive his old truck. This same truck, actually.

I jump out of the truck and walk around to the driver’s side door, open it, and help her out. She touches my shoulder lightly as she jumps down but quickly pulls it away as soon as she’s on her feet, and that old familiar burn of rejection manifests in my chest.