Tell Me

Chloe

The more Hayden drove, the more sober I became. And with sobriety came the flood of memories and emotions. Depression. I had been battling depression since I turned nine. It was a pain that nobody could truly understand, not even my parents.

What I longed for was to hear them say, "Don't worry, sweetie. We're here to help you." But instead, those words came from the therapist they sent me to the very next day. Therapy was never much of a solace. It felt like going through the motions, with someone paid to question me rather than genuinely care.

But despite the darkness, suicide was never an option for me. As much as I despised my life, I held on to the belief that things could get better. I couldn't bear the thought of passing my pain on to someone else.

Hayden glanced at me briefly, and as we passed under a streetlight, I noticed a birthmark on his cheek-a dark shade of red that resembled a perfectly placed splash of paint.

He was about to say something when the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser appeared behind us. Hayden groaned, pulling over and leaning back in his seat.

"You have to be fucking kidding me," he mumbled, expressing his frustration. I frowned, concerned about the situation.

Observing through the rearview mirror, I saw an officer approach Hayden's car and knock on the glass. Hayden rolled down the window, and the officer shone his flashlight inside.

The officer, short with a bushy mustache and eyebrows, had pale skin and dark brown eyes. He spoke, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" Hayden shrugged carelessly, clearly not giving a single care.

I wanted to laugh at his nonchalant response, but I also felt anger brewing within me. I recognized this officer; I had heard of several people having negative encounters with him for all the wrong reasons.

"Because he's black," I stated bluntly. Hayden looked at me, his expression remaining the usual emotionless mask, but his eyes danced with amusement.

The officer appeared taken aback, shaking his head quickly before looking between the two of us. "No, ma'am. That's a serious accusation to make. You guys ran the red-light back on 62nd," he rambled anxiously, trying to justify his actions.

I rolled my eyes as he and I both knew that he was lying. "We didn't even come from that direction." I informed the officer.

This was an all too familiar occurrence, happening far too frequently. The police in this town, like many others, had a reputation for being deeply racist. It was a sad reality that something as minor as jaywalking could result in being arrested.

"Okay, but I still need to ask you a few questions," the officer insisted, growing impatient. I leaned back, adopting a nonchalant demeanor as I observed him.

"Do you get paid to bully people? Or is that just a Personal Hobby of yours?" I interjected, looking at the officer. He glanced up at me, clearly losing his patience.

"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to stop with the attitude."

"What attitude?" I shrugged, taunting him. He sighed, growing frustrated.

"Because of her, I'm going to need to search your vehicle," the officer sighed, his tone implying that he had no choice.

Now, I was actually beginning to enjoy my night. "Officer, with all due respect, that's not going to happen." A slow smirk etched its way onto Hayden's face. "Because you don't have a probable cause."

The officer stammered, unable to respond.

"As a matter of fact, let me get your badge number. There's no reason for this," I said confidently and I noticed a flicker of fear in his eyes, and I smiled innocently.

"Sure," he complied, and I quickly wrote down his badge number, nodding at him.

"Great. Does your Supervisor need to be called or can we leave now?" I asked, and he sighed in defeat, nodding before walking away.

Hayden looked at me, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his seat. He was asking a question which went unspoken yet somehow, I knew what it was. His eyes were captivating, like large diamonds in a dark river. But they were also lifeless, most likely hiding a tough life he had endured.

"My brother is a law student," I told him. He started driving again, speeding down the street.

He nodded slowly, and then I heard the most beautiful sound in the world. He let out a low chuckle, his deep voice making it sound even hotter.

"That surprised me," he said as we neared my house, and I giggled.

"It surprised me too. I'm too shy to even make eye contact with myself in the mirror," I said, realizing how bold it was for me to speak to an officer like that.

He smirked slightly, shaking his head before pulling up to the curb. Surprisingly, he got out of the car. He came around and opened my door, offering me his hand. My cheeks heated up as I took his hand, feeling a shock of electricity at my fingertips. He shut the door and, to my surprise, walked with me to my doorstep.

Not many guys would do that. Heck, I had never had a guy do that. But I had read a lot of romance novels, so that had to count for something. I stood on the doorstep, turned toward him, and opened my mouth to say something. But as the alcohol wore off, my anxiety crept back in.

"Sit with me," he said in a monotone voice, confusing me a little. My cheeks refused to return to their normal color. I sat on the step, and he sat next to me. His knee brushed against mine unintentionally, and I shivered slightly.

"What now?" I asked shyly, playing with the end of my top.

"Tell me something," he said, leaning forward and placing his elbow on his knee. I knew what he meant.

"Um, well, my name is Chloe Hale. I moved here last year with my brother and mother, and as you can see, my social status is amazing," I said sarcastically, and he chuckled quietly.

"I see," he said, looking up at the sky. I tilted my head slightly to the side.

"What about you?" I asked, forcing myself to be confident.

He looked over at me, his eyes staring into my soul. There were small details on his face that I had previously missed.

Only now did I take everything in. There was a small indent in the skin just above his eyebrow-a scar for sure, a healed cut that left behind a mark.

His eyelashes were long, something common with most guys. But every time he laughed, two deep dimples peeked out from within his cheeks, and I couldn't help but stare at him.

"My last name is Santos. I got out of Juvenile Detention today. That's mostly it," he shrugged carelessly, and I frowned.

"What about your parents?" I asked, and he looked back at the sky.

"They died," he replied.

"Does that mean you live alone?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"I live with my aunt. It's cool, though," he replied, standing up and turning toward me. I stood up too, on the middle step, while he stood on the flat ground.

Yet, I was still a lot shorter than him. His muscular chest showed through the thin fabric of his black shirt, diverting my attention from his eyes to his abs. Everything about him seemed defined, as though he were a perfectly sculpted Greek God. Every detail seemed perfectly placed.

His eyes scanned my body again, never lingering too long to make me feel uncomfortable. His eyes weren't judgmental, which made me slightly less anxious. Which was weird, considering I was usually too anxious to even stand near my window, fearing someone would see me and make fun of me.

"I'll see you around," he said, his emotionless voice sending slight chills up my spine.

I nodded and gave him a smile before he backed away.

"Goodnight, Hayden." I said, walking up the stairs.

"Hale." He said, opening his car door and getting in.

I went inside and, as soon as I shut the door, I slid to the ground and broke into a fit of anxiety and depression. My mind raced nonstop, pouring out all the negativity into my heart.

School on Monday was going to be terrible. I knew that for a fact, and I honestly wasn't looking forward to it. It was torturous-having no say in whether or not I wanted this life. But in a sick way, I preferred it this way. I wouldn't want someone else going through this torment in my place.

Sighing, I got up and walked past the living room where my stepfather was lying on the couch, shirtless with a beer bottle in his hand. My lips pursed, and I quietly tried to make my way to my room.

"Come here," he said harshly, getting up, but I shook my head frantically and bolted toward the stairs.

"I said come here, Bitch!" he yelled, but I didn't stop. I managed to reach the top of the stairs before he got too close. I slammed my door shut and locked it, then placed a chair against the handle. There was a loud bang on the other side of the door, and I jumped back in fear.

"I won't hurt you, Baby. Just please, do Daddy a favor," he said drunkenly. I ran into the bathroom and locked that door too. Then I lay down in the empty tub, trying to make myself slightly comfortable in order to get some sleep.

My stepfather always did this. He was sick in the mind. I rarely slept due to the uncalled-for encounters with that man, especially when he tried to get into my room at night. Thankfully, he never succeeded.

God answered my prayers, and I hoped that he would continue to help me because I didn't know what that man would do if he ever managed to get in. Nicholas was such a nice man when he first came.

I was younger, and he treated me like an absolute princess. He gave me gifts every day, took me on trips to any place I desired, and even helped me with my homework because he was smart.

But it wasn't like that anymore. Now he was a monster, a predator that emerged as soon as he started drinking. I blamed the alcohol-it made him crazy.

My brother didn't know about this as he wasn't around as frequently as I would have liked. He was always out somewhere, playing with another girl's heart or crashing at a friend's house.

Sighing, I got up and went over to the cabinet, opening it and retrieving my prescribed medication to contain and control my anxiety. There were multiple pills they gave me.

Somehow, they worked. But they made me feel terrible once I took them. I was always dizzy and unstable, and my mind wouldn't function properly. I was always tired.

But there was nothing I could do about it. The therapist made sure that I always took them, and I couldn't argue. Because in a world like mine,

Everyone knew what was best for you.