Page 50 of Twisted Violet

He goes still.

Then I add, softer, “The only reason I graduated is because my sister took the brunt of it. So, I’m sure you had your reasons.”

Dallas looks at me, startled, like he wasn’t expecting that kind of grace.

He nods slowly, jaw tight. “Yeah. I did.”

We hit a red light, and he drops his gaze. “I was seventeen. And she was my English teacher.”

The air in the truck goes still.

“She used to stay after school with me. Said I had potential. Said I just needed someone to believe in me.”

His voice twists into something sharp. Bitter.

“Then she started touching me. Saying if I didn’t give her what she wanted, she’d fail me. Said no one would believe a kid like me. Especially not some dumb country boy.”

My fingers dig into my thighs.

“So I stopped showing up. Stopped trying. I dropped out just before I turned eighteen.”

He drags a hand through his hair, forcing a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess I’ve always thought my only real value was how I looked. The face. The body. The smile.”

“Dallas,” I whisper.

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, leveling his eyes on the road again. “Not like it mattersnow. I figured out how to be useful. Strong. Reliable. The guy people call when they want something handled.”

“That’s not all you are.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No,” I push, soft but firm. “You’re more than your body. More than what she did to you. You’re more than the guy who handles things. You’re the guy who cares.”

He doesn’t respond, but his grip on the wheel loosens, just slightly, like something uncoiled in him.

We drive a few more blocks in silence. Outside the window, the city blurs by. The world hasn’t changed, but something between us has.

Dallas reaches for the radio and turns the volume up just enough to hear the bass of the music pumping through the speakers.

It’s not a song I recognize, but the soft beat fills the space between us like a held breath. His fingers tap against the wheel, not from nerves now, but something steadier, and for just a second, I let myself breathe, too.

I rest my forehead against the window, letting the sound of the music fill the silence inside me.

The panic over Ollie hasn’t passed, but Dallas’s story is still echoing in my head. His childhood held a different kind of pain than mine, but it was painful just the same. I want to reach over and say something else, maybe even hold his hand, but I don’t.

Not because I don’t want to, I do, more than anything. But because I don’t trust my voice not to crack for the beautiful broken boy inside of him.

So instead, I watch the city smear past in flashes of red and gold, and pretend, for just a few more seconds, that we’re both okay.

As the searchfor Ollie continues, we pass a corner store, and I catch my reflection in the glass.

It’s justa blur, but it’s enough to leave a lasting impression.

My eyes are wide. My hands are shaking. It’s the same hollow look I thought I’d buried.

For a second, I see her again.

The girl caged in the shed. The one who flinched at every sound and never thought she’d make it out.