THERAPY (excerpt)

Part 4

I'VE CONVINCED HIM that I'll be fine. I don't want to go to the ER. The last thing I need is to deal with my parents getting involved. My dad would never understand and my mom would just fall apart and make it worse. I'm sore and it really hurts, but the pain is bearable.

"Are you going to be all right to drive?" he asks, still concerned.

I get into my car slowly, wincing in pain. My rib cage is throbbing and my head is pounding. He leans down, propping his elbows on my window, and I feel so pathetic. I'm still shocked beyond belief that he's here helping me, caring about me, and showing genuine concern for my well-being.

"Jessica, I still think you need to go to the ER. I really don't feel comfortable letting you just drive home, but I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. I just feel terrible."

I look up at him, and his stare infiltrates my well-built walls. Why do I feel like I can't hide from him? My darkest fears, secrets, and pains seem to all be vividly displayed for him. Right now, my feelings are equivalent to a burn victim, but my burns aren't physical. My emotional skin is raw, and every word, thought, or gesture that falls upon it sends waves of pain throughout my body. His kind, caring words and actions provide a healing, therapeutic effect; an antidote to the daily pain caused by people like Elizabeth.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for helping me. I know you didn't have to. I promise I won't tell anyone."

He looks me square in the eyes. His stare is heavy, and my breath hitches under the weight of it.

"I don't give a damn what people at school think about me, Jessica. High school isn't the be-all-end-all of my life. All I care about right now is that I helped you, did the right thing, and made sure you were okay. Everything else is irrelevant," he says, pushing back off of my car.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks at me. I need to say something, but what? Anything I say is inane and trivial compared to what he did for me here tonight.

"Thank you, Jace," is all I can muster before rolling up my window.

He lifts his hand, giving me a slight wave as I pull out onto the road. My mind is racing, and for some reason the pain seems to be a second thought to all of the others plowing through my mind. No one has ever helped me like that, cared about my feelings, or acted like I truly mattered. I look in my rearview mirror, seeing lights blinking on and off. It's Jace.

I wonder what he wants now.

I pull over and watch as he opens the door of his F150 and jumps out, walking toward me. I roll down the window and he hands me a receipt.

"Here's my cell number. You can call or text anytime if you need anything, or if something like this ever happens again and I'm not around. Okay?"

I look at the wrinkled receipt that has his number scrawled across it, and then back at him. He must see my obvious confusion and surprise because he steps in closer to my car.

"It's fine. You really can call me if you ever need anything." He gives me a genuine smile, then backs up and heads to his truck.

His loud truck roars as he passes by and I just sit here, stunned. Is the star quarterback of the school my friend now? Is that even possible? Why? Why would he want to be my friend and could I even do that?

I've never been just friends with a guy before. I don't even know how to connect with a guy without having a physical relationship with him. I pull into my driveway, hoping that Mom and Dad are in bed, though I doubt they'll even notice my scratched face or bloody knees if they are awake. They hardly ever look at me, and when they do they don't really see me.