Where are you? Come get me.
The response came fast.
Ciarán: On my way.
I set the phone down, my chest tight as I leaned back into the couch. Maybe fucking Ciarán would make me feel better. My tears stopped at the thought, but the ache in my heart stayed,heavy and unmoving. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice, but right now, it was what I was about to do.
Eight- Jordin
Silence filled the space in the car between me and Ciarán as the road stretched ahead, dark and endless. We’d been driving for hours without a word. I leaned against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, my head throbbing from the wine I’d drunk. My stomach kept flipping—caused by a combination of the hangover and the weight of everything that had gone wrong in my life over the past month.
Ciarán drove with one hand on the wheel, posture relaxed like he had no worries in the world. But I’d already seen on social media there’d been some incident between him and his father. He didn’t seem bothered. I wondered what their story was, but not enough to ask.
We hadn’t said much since I got in the car. He’d pulled up, texted me that he was downstairs, and I went down. He told me to get in—that we were going to his house in Miami to get away. I didn’t have clothes or anything, not even a toothbrush. I was wearing a pair of leggings and an Ice Cube T-shirt with Hello Kitty slippers. I didn’t even care. I just got in.
Maybe it was my fault we weren’t talking. I didn’t exactly feel like making conversation. Maybe I should’ve asked him about his dad.
I cut my eyes to the window and was met with nothing but darkness before they returned to him.
I eyed his profile, faintly illuminated by the dashboard glow. His side view was deadly. This man had the type of face that could make you forget your own damn name if you weren’t careful. He wore a simple white T-shirt, joggers, and Nike slides, like he’d just rolled out of bed to come get me. It was the first time I’d seen him dressed down. I wondered why he wasn’t with anybody.
I broke the silence, suddenly feeling like talking. “You ever think about marriage? Kids?”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t even glance at me. Just kept his eyes on the road like I hadn’t said anything.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was something underneath it—something heavy. “Nah. Not really. Not something I want.”
I turned in my seat to look at him fully, trying to figure out if he was serious. “Why not?”
“Because I know myself, Jordin. I have issues. My moms was sweet as pie… But my pops… I took after him. Got the same fucked-up chemical imbalance. Temper like fire, mean streak a mile wide. I’ve seen what that shit does to a family. I don’t want to do that to anybody, especially not kids.”
His honesty caught me off guard.
He shrugged, still not looking at me as he continued. “But, I mean, I could see myself with someone long-term. Someone who gets me, you know? Someone who understands when I don’t want to be bothered for days. Somebody who gets that I ain’t gonna always have time for them. But papers and promises? Nah. That shit don’t mean anything if you can’t back it up. My dad used to give my mom all kinds of promises, and you know what they added up to? Zero. I can’t do that to anybody. Won’t do that.” His voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, like he’d convinced himself a long time ago.
I sat back, trying to absorb what he was saying without judgment. He was too young to be this jaded. I had just caught my husband cheating, and even I wasn’t as cynical.
“You talk like that and it makes me want to hug you.”
His head turned toward me, his jaw tight. “I don’t need your pity, Jordin,” he snapped, his tone cutting into me. “Not everybody wants that fairy tale shit.”
The air in the car shifted, heavy and tense. I studied his face. “I’m just saying, it’s sad to close yourself off from something that could be good, just because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” he said firmly, his voice low. “I’d rather be alone than fuck someone up because I tried to give them something I can’t.”
I exhaled slowly, letting his words settle in my brain. “So you think you’re protecting people by shutting them out? You’re not. All you’re doing is isolating yourself. Keep doing that and you’ll never find somebody who’ll love you through all that you mentioned.”
He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You sound like a fucking motivational poster. But let me ask you something. How are you still this big on love and relationships when your husband was just balls deep in another bitch? That shit don’t make no sense.”
Ouch. Shocked by the heat behind his comment, my mouth dropped open. “Low blow, Negro,” I replied. But I couldn’t even be mad. I was the one who started the conversation.
“Am I wrong, though? You telling me you not bitter?” he rebutted.
I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. “Yes, I’m bitter, but that doesn’t mean you can throw that shit in my face because I said something you don’t like. I’m not out here preaching love cures all, Ciarán. I’m saying it’s worth trying.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into something more serious. “You’re right. It was low. My bad.”
I turned and stared at him for a second, surprised by the apology. “Thank you,” I said, a little softer.
