Free When Our Worlds Collide by Lindsey Iler

is
collecting all of her notes and putting them inside of her book as I study her
from my seat.
    I break the silence just as she stands to walk out. “Please
talk to me,” I ask sounding more sincere than anything.
    “What is there to talk about?” Kennedy answers. She doesn’t
even bother to look me in the eye when she speaks. That’s not a good sign,
right?
    “I think you know what we need to talk about, Kennedy.”
    “About how you ran me over with your car when you were drunk
and I let you leave me in the middle of the road basically broken or about how
you haven’t even bothered to check in on me since said accident? Which one do
you want to start with because as far as I’m concerned we don’t have anything
to talk about?”
    Okay, I’m an even bigger asshole than I thought.
    It’s all a bit clearer to me as to why she is upset. It’s
too late now. I can’t exactly turn back the time and if I could, I would have
already done that to stop the night of the accident from happening in the first
place. I don’t have anything to say to her. I wish there is something to stop
her from leaving me standing here, but there’s no fix all to this. Instead I
just watch her walk away once again. 
    The last hour of school goes by in what can only be
described as slow motion. I avoid talking to everyone, even Amanda who
basically throws herself at me after school. She offers something that I never
would usually turn down, but for once I know sex isn’t going to alleviate
what’s ailing me. A blow job couldn’t pull me out of this funk for fucks sake.
    I go to baseball practice with my head in a fog. Standing on
the pitcher’s mound is my place of comfort and solitude. Today’s different.
Kennedy’s words play on a constant loop in my head as I throw out every pitch.
    Nothing has ever distracted me from baseball.
    Until her.
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
    -Kennedy-
     
    “How was your first day back at school, honey?” My father
startles me once I walk in the front door. I wasn’t expecting him to be home
from work this early. He is lounging on the couch wearing gym shorts and a
t-shirt, like he just got done working out.
    “It was fine. What are you doing home from work so early?” I
look him over as he flips through every T.V. channel, never stopping on any one
in particular. He is clearly avoiding looking me in the eye. 
    “I just…” he pauses to think about what he is going to say.
“I just had a few things to do around the house, so I bailed out early.” I can
tell he is lying. I push it to the back of my mind. Whatever he is hiding is
probably for the best. I don’t have the energy right now after my first day
back to school to worry about anyone else’s problems.
    I stand in the entrance to the living room thinking about
how Graham wants to talk about what happened. I’m not sure if I am prepared to
do that. I don’t have a good reason for what I did for him. I don’t know how
I’d even begin to explain it to him when I don’t fully understand it myself. I
have the tendency to avoid confrontation. I inherited that little trait from my
Dad which explains why he is still refusing to look in my direction.
    “I have a lot of homework to do,” I say hobbling back to my
bedroom leaving my father flipping through the channels.
    I throw my backpack onto my bed before going into my
bathroom to wipe away all of my make-up. It is one thing to be all dolled up
when I went to school. It seems pointless to sit around in my room with a thin
layer of make-up on my face. I take a moment to stare at myself in the mirror
when I am changing into my favorite Notre Dame sweatpants. They are the only
thing that could fit over my cast beside gym shorts and skirts. 
    I stand looking in the mirror at the bruises that cover a
large portion of my body. The ones on my arms are on the minor side. As you get
closer to my ribs they get larger. I push on the largest one that is taking up
most of my right side