Cliché with a player

Chapter 35 - What happens at picnic stays at picnic

What happened at the should stay at the picnic. It didn't. But it really should've.

After Matt and I emerged outside again, Nessa's dad finished with the grill and he served us the best chicken, pork and beef I have ever tasted.

We were in the mids of casually talking and joking, and everything was going great...Until the door to the backyard rattled with the force that is my father.

"Miss Davis?" A policeman's voice rattles my thoughts and snaps me out of my trance. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

"Um, yes, y-yes I do." My voice almost breaks. I swallow over the huge lump in my throat and look the man in the eye once more.

"Then you can leave. Your mother will have to stay here for a bit longer."

Without a word I pick up my things and set on leaving. The man's gaze gently tugs at my back where I can feel him staring at me as I go.

With any luck I won't have to visit this place or him ever again. And even then it would be too soon.

Matt's waiting for me outside, leaning on his car with a stern expression. His hands are in his pockets, his gaze fixed on something on the pavement, but as soon as he hears me walking down the steps from the police station his head perks up, his eyes meeting mine.

I keep my face neutral, stone cold, not letting a single emotion beside fury show. In reality all I want to do is cry — and I don't want to do that anymore. I've had enough of everything.

I want to go away.

I don care where or how, I just don't want to be here anymore. This town, these people, it's all killing me.

And thank the gods Matt knows me well enough — or he maybe has a very good sixth sense — to not poke but only understand.

He opens the car door on the passenger's side, then climbs inside himself. The ride is quiet, even the radio turned off.

He stops in front of his house but neither of us moves to go inside.

"I want to leave," I voice my decision. These are not just thoughts anymore, I've decided and I'm taking only myself. I'm so tired.

I'm tired because my parents made me tired. My mom too, for not leaving sooner, and I know it's not easy, the fear keeps you in a tight embrace one that is almost impossible to break free from, but never the less she shouldn't have put Andrew and me trough all of that. I'm mad, tired, I loathe myself and the people that should be dearest to me. I. Just. Want. Peace.

Is that really too much to ask for?

Matt slowly nods, kind of like he was expecting something like that or he at least understands.

"Where to?"

"Away."

"Wait here."

He steps out of the car and walks into the empty house — others took Noah and Irina for ice cream to soothe them from the scene they've witnessed — and after fifteen minutes he is back with a suitcase and a duffel bag, both of which he puts in the trunk of the car before returning to the drivers seat.

I turn to look at him. His beautiful features and that damn beauty spot under his eye, and ask, "I want to drive." It sounds like a statement, a command, but he knows I'm actually asking permission.

He leans forward and kisses me hard, feverish, almost like he is afraid of me dissolving into sea foam like the little mermaid if he doesn't, and his hands cup my face. "You don't have to ask me permission for anything, Laken. I have already given you myself, my heart, my mind...There is nothing more for you to take."

We switch sides and for the first time ever, Matt Taylor relinquishes his seat as the driver.