A Script for Seven Years: Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Cal

I carry Alex out of the cafeteria as fast as possible.

I run into the auditorium, a large room with about five hundred seats, a large, empty stage, and brick walls all around. I slide down against one of the walls, pulling Alex into my lap. She buries her face into my flannel, shoulders still shaking.

"I've got you," I whisper. My hand rests on the back of her head, my fingers tangled in her soft blonde hair. I press my cheek to her temple. "You're right here with me. No trees. No sky. Just me and you."

Alex gasps for air as she curls her fingers into the fabric of my shirt. She looks up at me, green eyes sparkling like stars. Her soft round lips tremble as she tries to find her voice, her breathing still shaky. A stray, damp lock of hair clings to her cheek, and I gently brush it away with my thumb, marveling at how soft her skin feels despite the chaos of the moment. Even through her panic, she radiates a warmth that grounds me. Looking down at her, the rest of the world fades away; there is no panic, no overwhelming noise outside those doors, just the quiet, undeniable feeling of holding her close.

As she looks up at me, her glassy eyes finally clear. She sees my face. She sees the raw, desperate devotion in my eyes—something I usually try to hide behind a wall of steady friendship.

"Cal," she breathes, her voice soft and fragile. "I'm so tired of being scared."

"I know," I murmur, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. My heart hammers against my ribs, pushing the words I've kept locked away for years right to the edge of my teeth. I want to tell her that I love her, that I would rather burn my own house to the ground than let anyone hurt her again.

Before I can say the words, a sharp voice echoes from the doors.