Me, Me, Me and Tara

Chapter Six

Staring in the mirror, I smile at the dark, torn jeans and Dad’s old Metallica t-shirt. It’s so worn that the fabric feels like it could crumble if I’m not careful. But I love it, every fraying edge, every faded patch. It’s more than just a shirt; it’s a piece of history. The black Converse sneakers are the finishing touch, the perfect mix of comfort and rebellion. I wonder if Harper would like a new look on me—maybe a bob, something edgy. Maybe I should finally go for it and dye my hair black. It would be bold, right? But then again, I’m not sure I’d even notice the change anymore. I don’t know. I’m not sure I care.

I pick up the hairbrush and look at it for a moment, but then I toss it onto the bed in frustration. Who needs a brush anyway? I’m not in the mood to deal with that. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I grab it quickly, hoping it’s a text from Harper, but of course, it’s not. She still hasn’t replied. I know she is upset about Charlie, and part of me gets it. It’s complicated. It was always going to be complicated. But can she really blame me? I need to talk to her. I need to fix this—somehow—but she’s not exactly making it easy.

I grip my keys in my hand so tightly that my fingers start to ache. My mind is a mess as I make my way down the stairs. The house feels empty, even though my parents are probably just somewhere in their own world, caught up in their routines. Not that it matters. They wouldn’t notice if I slipped out the door without a word. I don’t even bother calling out. I just keep moving because everything around me is irrelevant.

I step outside, the cool morning air hitting my skin, and slam the door behind me. I don’t care that it’s louder than necessary. I don’t care about anything right now. I shove my keys into the ignition and start the car. The engine roars to life, and I feel that familiar rush of freedom. I glance at the passenger seat, where my backpack is sitting, the straps still hanging loosely. I roll my eyes. I don’t need it today. Honestly, I don’t need any of it. School, grades, the stupid assignments—they’re all just distractions. None of it actually matters.

I cringe slightly at the thought of facing another day at that place. Another round of pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t. It’s easier to just leave it behind. I don’t really care about any of my classes anyway. They can keep their quizzes, their homework, and their endless demands. I won’t be there to deal with them. I press down on the gas pedal, feeling the car speed up, and I let the world blur past me.

The road stretches out in front of me, a false symbol of escape, honestly. I could take this car and what little money I have and just leave. Leave behind the judgment and the stares and the responsibilities, but no matter how far I go, I can't escape myself—I'll never be freed from her. Even now, I can feel her anxiety and the sensation of being pulled backwards by my collar. I hate it. I hate her. I hate myself.

Irritation quickly morphs to rage, and I contemplate the consequences of swerving off the road for all of two seconds before I jerk the wheel to the right. I stomp the gas and immediately jolt as I take out a mailbox, but I don't stop. I keep the wheel straight as I slam directly into the brick-encased mailbox of the next house, and it forces my vehicle to a halt. Bashing my head on the steering wheel and definitely earning myself some whiplash, I huff.

I pull out my phone and dial Harper. Thankfully she picks up.

"Kennedy?" She asks meekly.

"It's Tara. I got in a car accident." I step out of the car and round the front to survey the damage. Definitely more to the mailbox than me. Damn.

"What?! Oh my god, are you alright?" She rushes the words out, and a flood of calm falls over me that someone would actually notice if I disappeared. I could never leave Harper behind.

"I—" I choke on my own words as she forces herself forward and I tumble back into oblivion.

"Tara?" Harper's voice carries to me from the phone, and I shudder.

"Harper?" My voice breaks, and I hit my knees looking at the damage to my car. Holding my sore forehead, I glance around and see a few cars stopping to check on me. "Oh god, Harper, what happened?"

"Oh, Kennedy," she croons, "I'm coming. Just stay there, okay?" I nod my head even though I know she can't see me and let the tears fall. The line disconnects, and I drop my phone into my lap, sitting back on my haunches.

Does Tara really hate me enough to try and kill us? Was she trying to get us killed, or was it really an accident? I sniffle and find some comfort that she chose to wear our dad's shirt today, though.

"Miss? Are you alright?" An older gentleman asks, standing off to the side, and I shake my head slowly from side to side. I don't remember how long it has been since I've truly been alright. I sob hysterically, and he crouches down to hold me, and I let him. This random man is showing me more compassion and care than I've seen in months, and I soak it up.