Identifying Sara

Chapter Twenty-One

The cuts on my face are now less visible then the ones on my hands that are covered in a few bandaids. Carson insisted on driving me home after he tended the wounds using the first aid kit in the glove comparment of his car. "It's cold out Sara! I'm not leaving you to walk home." Is what Carson repeated many times when I tried to tell him I was fine walking, but he wasn't giving in. To tell the truth, it was annoying but at the same time it felt nice to know he was some what showing me that I was cared for. However, most of the drive, I face away from Carson and keep my face directed towards the window so that he won't see my shameful expression. My thoughts travel fast but one thing I hold onto is embarrassment. It's embarrassing how I failed to do what I felt so confident about. I really thought I could find him didn't I? I thought I was strong and independent enough, that's what I want myself to think but this is my wake up call to tell me that I'm not. How and why would I let Carson see that?

"So, are we still on for tomorrow?" Carson tries to make small talk but I can barley focus on what he's saying since the memories keep coming back and replaying themselves inside my head. It takes me a minute or two, maybe three, to figure out that I'm thinking way too much about a repsonse for that.

"Yeah. . . yeah." I reply without really knowing it and keeping my eyes glued to the scenery out the window. I hear him sigh and tap his fingers against the steering wheel in frustration. I know that wasn't the tone he wanted with that answer. It sounded like I wasn't even alive, like I was in another world just going along with whatever he says not even aware of what was going on. I feel bad, but I can't snap out of it, the gun, the piercing sound of glass shattering into millions of pieces on the ground. I sigh as well and hit my head against the window trying the knock the thoughts right out my head.

Say something. I bite my tongue hoping to get it to cooperate with my head telling it to just spit something out. Speak Sara! Just speak! "Can I ask you a question?" I say quickly finally breaking the silence and feeling like I have control over myself again.

Carson's mood is suddenly changed from frustrated to excited and eager all at once; I turn my body to face him to see the wild excitement in his eyes when he speaks. "Go ahead, I'm listening sweet pea." He tells me with a smile on his face. His tone is relieved and also careful, as if he is filtering what he says, afraid that I'll break. I can't help but crinkle my nose at the nick name. That's the second time he's called me that. I hate to admit it, but I sort of, kind of, maybe, like it.

Now, I try to filter what I say. It seems that we are both sensitive and we both have rough patches of our life that if somehow are mentioned, can completely break us down in different ways. I can't think of a simple way to ask, but I have to know or else the curiosity will eat me alive. "What were you doing out yesterday?" I ask with an uneasy tone to my voice. His smile drops along with my stomach when the words fall from my lips. I feel guilty for asking looking at his facial expression now, but I don't regret it. "Well," he clears his throat, clearly unsure of what to say. "That's not really important." Oh. I slouch in my seat and turn to face away from him again without saying anything. I think about the times I told him things that I didn't want to, but I did anyway. I thought I could trust him and he could trust me, or maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm not a very trustable person.

From the reflection in the window I see him run a hand through his hair, something that all teenage boys seem to do. At least that's what I've read in the books. "Sara, again, I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend you, I'm just," he pauses. "It's hard to explain but, things are complicated and you know that."

"You're right, I do. But it shouldn't be anymore complicated than what you told me last," I say a little angrily to him. His jaw tightens and I look away scowling at the window noticing the cupcake shop that we have been passing for the last half hour and that somehow makes me more angry. My temper is very short. One simple thing can make me angry in an instant, and thats a flaw i've always hated about myself.