Burn Before Reading(56)

I grabbed another wrench from a nearby table and squatted next to him. Wolf, as always, made space between our bodies instantly, and I took his absence as an opportunity to do things right myself.

“You have to take the backplate off if you want to rotate the bolts anywhere beyond 180 degrees,” I said. “Otherwise you’re just stripping the transmission cap.”

“I know that,” He spun one of his rings furiously. “How do you know that?”

“It isn’t exactly hard to open a book and study,” I said. “It’s what got me in here, and it’s what’ll get me out of here.”

“Is that all you think about? College?”

“High school is pointless,” I wrench harder. “We sit around, teachers tell us what to do, what blanks to fill out, we go home, and the cycle repeats. We have no control over our lives – we can’t do anything except what they tell us to, or we get in trouble. It’s bullshit. Nothing here is real, or impactful. So yeah, I can’t wait to get out to college, where I can do what I want to, the way I want to.”

“The professors in college are the same way,” Wolf insisted.

“But at least you’re working towards a degree. At least you’re amassing tons of knowledge that’s useful for what you want to do when you graduate. High school is the equivalent of macaroni pictures and fingerpainting. I want poetry from the greats, I want math no one’s heard of, I want philosophy from Greek masters and psychology from actual brain scientists. I want the real thing, not the imitation.”

Wolf scoffed. “There’s this thing called baby steps. Taking it one day at a time. Ever heard of it?”

“I don’t have time,” I muttered. “And I can’t afford to take baby steps. Not when I needed to have been running marathons by now.”

Wolf frowned, dark hair falling in his eyes that he pushed away immediately. “You can’t run marathons without training for them, first.”

“Okay, this metaphor sucks and I’m discontinuing it.”

“I thought it was passable,” Wolf said. “Not going to even throw it in the bargain bin? Straight to trash?”

“Straight to trash. Put myself in there too, while I’m at it,” I agreed. I worked my fingers into the back of the transmission chain, feeling for the nut I had to replace. I gritted my teeth – it was just beyond my reach. “Almost…there…”

Everything happened in a split-second; I put my weight on my other palm, which was balancing on the bike’s foothold. Something metallic snapped - I later realized it’d been the kickstand – and the bike came careening down on me. I had just enough time to pull my hands out and throw them up to shield my face. This was it – this was how I died, my irrational fear-brain screamed at me; crushed under the three hundred pound bike of my worst nemesis. My last thought? I hoped Dad found a better daughter than me; one who didn’t spy on three motherless boys and snitch on them to their asshole father.

But nothing hurt. No pain came. There was the sound of the bike crashing to the floor, and then silence. I squinted, a blurry slice of white and black fabric in front of me. I could feel warmth all around me, arms cradling me like a protective cage. My face was buried in a chest – white t-shirt, smelling like motor grease and cinnamon and sweat. Someone’s Adam’s apple bobbed just above me, and my eyes widened.

Wolf.

Wolf held me close, the bike splayed on its side. With the way we were angled, I realized he got in between it and me. It must’ve hit his back on its way to the floor.

“Are you alright?” I felt his voice rather than heard it – rumbling just near my ear.

“I’m f-fine,” I started. Wolf was holding me. Did the crash punt me through a rip in space-time into another dimension? One where he wasn’t phobic of touching people? His smell and his voice and the sight of the delicate skin of his throat entranced me, like it did that time in the pool building. That moment felt frozen in time, neither of us moving, both of us too incredulous at our entwined state. We were both breathing like rabbits – fast and shallow.

“Y-You can let go, now.” I tried. I felt his arms around me tighten. His whole body was shaking – I could see it from the tips of his dark hair down to the vibration of his fingers on my shoulders.

“No,” He muttered, hoarse. “Help me.”

“With what?” I tried.

“You’re the shrink-wannabe,” He said. “Help me. This is the first time since – ”

He swallowed hard, the words dying on his lips. He was right – I was the shrink wannabe. As weird as this situation was, I could help. This was the first time in a long time, apparently, that he’d touched someone like this. Think, Bee! Remember what the books said about exposure therapy, how to handle it, what to say -

“What do you need me to do?” I asked softly.

“Just…stay like this,” He murmured. “For a while. With me.”

By all rights I should’ve stood up and left. I was just going over my hate for him in my head not twenty minutes ago! I should’ve left. But I couldn’t – not when he was shaking so hard. And to tell you the truth, a part of me liked being hugged like this; er, if you could call it a hug. It was so desperate and encompassing it felt more like…an embrace. But it was warm, and nice, having another person so close you could hear their heartbeat.