Page 55 of Collided (Dirty Air 2)

“I do all types. Painting, drawing, but I especially love charcoal because I like to get my hands all dirty and smudge the lines.” Her voice betrays her excitement.

“Do you still do it? I haven’t seen you with any art supplies this summer.”

“Not as much anymore. Once I got busy with school, I stopped, except for a few classes I did on the side for elective credits. Plus, my dad appreciates respectable careers if he’s going to finance my degree. If I told him I was switching my major, I think he’d have a heart attack.” She sounds wistful and sad at once.

My heart pinches, an unfamiliar feeling for me. She won’t follow her own interests because of her dad?

“It’s never too late to follow your dreams and see where they take you. Look at me. You’re lying down with one of the best drivers in F1.”

“Your humbleness never ceases to amaze me. I mean, I can try while on the road.”

I stare into the darkness, avoiding everything inside of me telling me to make a move on Sophie. It’s a torturous experience. “You should. If you’re creative, take advantage. I lack any of that shit.” My arms tighten around her, loving the feeling of her lying across my chest.

What the hell is happening to me?

“Tell me a secret of yours. I feel like I always share while you barely do. So what gives?” She taps a finger against my chest.

I take a few deep breaths, regulating my heart rate. She tempts me to share everything with her.

Sophie lets out a deep exhale. “I was joking. You don’t have to share something if you don’t want to.”

She gives me an out, making me feel something I can’t label for the life of me. Her selflessness and her ability to not push me gives me the strength to put myself out there because if I can’t trust her, is she really my friend? God, I’m really a sucker for her.

“People think they know me, but they don’t.”

“Which people?” she says plainly, not an ounce of judgment in her voice.

“Friends, fans, my team. The person they know is far from the person I really am. I’ve mastered an image they want to see.”

She takes a moment, crickets sounding off in the dark woods surrounding us. “What’s your reasoning for doing that? Is it to protect your privacy?”

“No.” I swallow, holding back the growing anxiety building inside of me.

“Then?” She lifts off my chest and sits.

“It’s stupid,” I grumble, running a hand down my face.

“If it means something to you, then it can’t be stupid. But you should know that it’s okay to hide parts of yourself from the public. For you and your sanity.”

She makes my confession easier by being so damn non-judgmental. It’s a complete change of pace compared to Peter and the public, all attempting to tear me down in hopes of some sick sort of redemption story.

“I live a lie. It’s a far cry from hiding parts.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She looks me in the eyes as she speaks in a hoarse whisper. “We all live lies. Some are just better at disguising them. Others hide and never acknowledge them, instead flinching at shadows looming in the corners because they know what lurks there. You’re aware of what you’re doing. You consciously embrace your secrets, becoming one with the issues haunting you.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I groan.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t. But it doesn’t mean I can’t empathize and feel for you. Life is about learning to share the burden of your problems with others. It might feel all good and dandy now to hide, but secrets have a way of getting to us all. And sometimes the greatest lies aren’t the ones we tell ourselves; they’re the ones we believe time and time again despite all the evidence proving us wrong. So share your secrets or keep them inside. The choice is yours. But just know that shit will eat away at you until you’re shrinking at your own shadow too.”

Silence cloaks us. Her words sit against my chest like a weight, pressing against the ache near my heart. Minutes pass by, neither one of us talking as we mull over our own thoughts. She lies back down on my chest. I feel relieved at the lack of eye contact.

I don’t know where I find the courage to share, but fuck I do. Blame the perceptive blonde lying on top of me who builds me up without threatening to tear me down. “My brother married my best friend.”

Sophie stills, not saying a word. Her silence encourages me to continue.

“Her name was Johanna.” I didn’t expect to choke on her name, but my voice betrays my hurt.

Sophie grabs my hand and intertwines her fingers with mine. She gives me an encouraging squeeze. It takes me another minute before I continue because I want to think out my words and make this whole process as painless as possible. Sophie stays silent, her thumb brushing against my hand, soothing me in more ways than one.