SECRET

Emma Skyte

‘Do you remember?’ I said through sharpened teeth.
            His knuckles whitened, cutting jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel. My gaze fixated on the dark leather beneath his fingertips, the way it seemed to groan. His eyes snapped to mine, a curt response.
            ‘Fine.’
            I grinned.
‘The last time we drove to the ocean, I fell asleep,’ I drawled. ‘Do you remember?’
            The muscles in his neck bunched.
            ‘You carried me inside our beach house. Tucked me away, safe and sound,’ I chuckled, the sound hollow. ‘You even placed a glass of water beside the bed, in case I woke thirsty.’
            I glanced at him, at his illuminated side-profile. The sun was setting, its amber hue outlining the contours of his face. Flecks of dust whirled in the space around us.
            ‘You were tired. I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said hoarsely.
            I nodded, eyes flaming. ‘You made sure to close the backdoor softly, when you left, so that it wouldn’t wake me.
            His leg bounced. Up, then down. Up, and then down. My lips curved as our car sped down the highway. His usually golden skin grew pale.
            ‘Noah,’ I whispered. He didn’t look at me. ‘Noah.’
            Finally, he looked at me. I leaned forward. His stare fell to my lips, lingering.
            ‘Will you see her tonight?’ I said, my voice like smoke. My slanted smile ablaze.
            His lips thinned. ‘Who?’
            Not a question. Or an answer.
            I placed my hand around that strong jaw of his. The pad of my thumb sunk into the dimple on his chin. ‘The door rattles, if you don’t slam it properly,’ I told him.
            His jaw hardened against my palm.
            ‘I want the house,’ I whispered.
            He twisted out of my grip and faced the road.
            I waited, watching. Then his eyes locked on mine, for less than a second. I knew what it meant.
            ‘Fine,’ he said.
            I grinned.