I hear his soft voice before I even open my eyes.

“Stella, wake up, baby.” I feel his lips against my neck, and his hands squeeze my waist through the fluffy comforter and sheets.

“Mmm,” I groan, smiling a bit. I barely open my eyes to find my room still mostly dark. By the muted glow coming from my windows, I can tell that the sun has barely risen.

I lie on my side with Charlie’s strong arms on either side of me, holding his body over mine.

“Why are you up so early?” My tired voice comes as a whisper. He is already dressed, the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled over his head. I turn underneath him, so that I’m lying on my back, and reach for the strings that hang from the neckline of his hoodie.

“I wanted to be able to pack the car so you can have more time with your parents. I’m going to go for a short run though, so will you pull out anything you need for today? I’ll take our suitcases down when I get back.”

I agree with a nod and smile, closing my eyes. I’m asleep again before he can even leave my room.

When I do finally rise, I hurry to get dressed and finish packing for our trip. Charlie still hasn’t returned by the time that I zip my suitcase and pull it towards the staircase, leaving it beside his. I delay carrying either downstairs when I smell breakfast coming from the kitchen, and I hear my parents’ muted voices.

Of course, my time that morning flies. My parents are more excited for me than sad to see me leave again, not only because they know I’m going somewhere new, but because they know they’ll be picking me up from the airport in less than a week.

They both remark again about how surprised they are that Charlie would even be taking me on such a trip. I act offended, reminding them that I’m not terrible, but I understand exactly what they mean. They both shove money at me, too, and tell me to keep trying to pay him back, at least for my plane ticket.

As I’m finishing my plate, the back door opens. I hear Charlie stomp his feet against the deck, ridding his shoes of dirt and mud before he comes striding into the kitchen. His breathing is heavy and his nose is tinted red from the chilled, morning air. He passes up on my father’s offer for breakfast, “I’m alright, thank you. I’ll just grab something later, when we’re on the road,” then, he looks at me, “I’m going to load the car. Are you almost ready?”

I nod, offering my help, but he refuses, of course.

Even Charlie’s always-ultra-calm exterior doesn’t hide his haste and rush this morning, and I begin to wonder if this is his normal behavior before a fight. Perhaps this is what his nerves look like in plain sight.

I hate to drag out goodbyes, so I wait until Charlie has loaded our luggage and returned to the kitchen to stand from my barstool and hug my parents.

“We’ll see you on Sunday,” my mom reminds me, and herself, before squeezing me tight.

“Thank you both so much again for having me. Hopefully I wasn’t to much trouble,” Charlie says to my parents, pulling a grin.

My mom goes to give him a hug, rising to her tiptoes and throwing her short arms around his neck. “You’re welcome here anytime,” she says.

Car rides have a calming affect on me – Charlie knows this, I think. I’m blissfully quiet for the first hour of our ride to the airport, listening to our music and playing mindlessly with the ends of my hair. But I can tell that I’m driving him absolutely insane.

“Do you need another drink?” He asks, for the third time.

“No, I’ve barely even had half of this,” I say evenly, reaching for my cherry coke in the cup holder, “If I drink it all at once, I’ll need to pee.”

“Do you need to now? We can stop.”

“No.”

A nice, quiet minute passes, and the sounds of Jeff Buckley fill my ears.

“Are you cold?”

“Not any colder than I was ten minutes ago – that’s the last time you asked, by the way.”

He frowns at me, then turns back towards the road, then looks back at me again, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Well, stop. Just enjoy the ride and don’t worry about being nice to me.”

I smile, but he doesn’t.

I squint towards the front windshield, wishing I had more of a view – malnourished grass seems to be all there has been for miles.

Suddenly, a flash of skin and black ink invades my vision, “If it’s too sunny, you can pull this down.” Charlie’s hand flips the visor down, covering half of my view with dark cherry leather.

Even though I’m only missing half of nothing, essentially, I flip the visor back up and cross my arms in my lap.

“I’m fine.”

I hear him huff, “You were squinting. I thought…”

“I have sunglasses. I’ll put them on if the squinting becomes a bit too much,” I say it dryly, but with more irritation than I wanted to portray. Charlie is always fussing over me, but never this much – I’m starting to actually find it annoying.

He takes a deep breath, and then reaches for the dial on the music, turning it up slightly, as if to distract his own thoughts – and mine.

Nearly three minutes pass this time – I time it by a song – before Charlie’s phone begins to ring in his pocket.

He huffs again, lifting himself slightly in his seat so that he can pull the phone from his jeans. As he lifts the phone to read the screen, it falls from his hands into the floorboard.

“Damn it,” he says under his breath, pushing his hand back through his hair in irritation.

“Here, I’ll get it –”

“No,” He says quickly, blocking my reach, “I’ll get it in a second.”

“You’re driving. Why can’t I just grab it for you?” I ask defensively.

The phone is still ringing – an annoying, default tone – and the squawky, uneven sound is making my head spin.

“Just leave it, Stella,” he says, raising his voice only slightly. This time, I am the one who lets out a huff.

The ringing finally stops.

Charlie only allows a moment before he makes his own attempt to apologize.

“Stop trying to be nice to me,” he smirks, mimicking my earlier statement. He turns his head towards me, and then back towards the road, and repeats the actions – like before.

His eyes are hidden from me behind his sunglasses, but worry is evident in his brow.

“It’s not like you would’ve answered it anyway,” I pout immaturely, propping my elbow up on the ledge of the passenger side door and laying my chin against my fist. Then, I tilt my forehead against the cold glass of the window and wait for his response.

His delay tells me that he knows what I meant, but he chooses to deflect, “Of course I wouldn’t have answered it. Phones and driving are sort of taboo these days.”

I don’t speak, I don’t even think, really – I try to block my own thoughts and emotions because I don’t want to be mad at him. Last time I was really angry with Charlie, I was left miserable for days.

Two songs pass before speaks again.

“Clients have been calling a lot about when I’ll train them again. I haven’t been working others into my schedule as much lately, and people are irritated with me.”

I finally look at him and he smiles again.

“So you can’t speak to clients unless you’re alone?” I ask, half curiously and half pointedly.

He smiles, biting his lip and shaking his head, “I think you’re being passive aggressive.”

“And what’s the cure for that, doc? Should I just start leaving the room every time I take a call so that others around me might become aware of how annoying and odd it is?”

He responds quickly and defensively, “The cure is to say something before you end up over thinking to the point of being irreversibly pissed off over nothing.”

“You even did it in front of my parents!” I erupt, turning my entire body back towards him, stretching the seat belt and causing Charlie to look worriedly back and forth between my angry face and the road – even more quickly than before.

“It would have been rude to take a call while we were all together! I seem to remember your mom excusing me anyhow. I wouldn’t have left otherwise. Besides, I’m sure they weren’t psychoanalyzing my actions like you were,” his voice is rough and angry.

“Well it was still annoying,” I snap, thinking back to the instance.

We were all watching a movie in my living room while we ate dinner. Charlie had already cleaned his plate, but everyone else was still quietly eating, staring intently at the screen. My mom did tell him to go ahead and take the call when his phone rang. My dad waved his hand in acceptance as well, but it still bothered me.

I stare completely away from Charlie now, my entire body turned back towards my window. The time moves slowly, yet only one verse of the Bob Dylan song passes before I hear him sigh and shift beside me.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying.”

He waits for my response, laying his hand in my lap. I look down at his open palm, taking it in my own, but not in the way that he expected. I flip his hand over and run my fingertip against the cold face of his ring that I gave him.

“I don’t want you to always be trying, Charlie. Things feel so easy between us, but are they, really? How long will you last with me if you feel like you’re constantly pushing yourself? And how long will I last if I –”

I stop myself, but by Charlie’s next question, I know that somewhere inside him, he hears what I’m thinking.

“You didn’t really mind my leaving to take calls before we were with your parents. I’m sorry if you thought it was rude of me, but I don’t think that’s why you’re upset,” he says, his voice now calm and quiet, sad almost.

And there it was: the lingering problems that we’d kept people too far away to uncover – they now the boiled between us. Charlie had never felt as though he’d safely proven himself to anyone but his aunt and uncle – and even then, he felt that he was their burden. He couldn’t really understand why I would love him through anything other than nice trips, and calm nights listening to records, and cooking dinner together, and having good conversations along the banks of scenic water features. He couldn’t understand that I’ll love him, even when I’m angry with him. He didn’t have to always be trying with me.

As for me, I was afraid of what people would think when they saw me love him when I was angry, or hurt, even. I could escape the shame of being hurt again, of allowing someone to hurt me again – but when others were aware, I would forever see my foolishness reflected back at me in their eyes. “Poor girl… Will she ever learn?” I would hear it, no matter what they said. And I know Charlie would never hurt me like I’ve been hurt, but still, he can break me in his own way. I’m okay with that; I’ll take my chances because I trust him, and he’s worth anything to me. For other people to see how vulnerable I am with him, though, that frightens me.

It isn’t logical, and it isn’t fair to him, but it’s my ungraceful little fear.

“Why aren’t you talking? You’re driving me insane,” he says finally. I look over to see him rubbing rashly at his eyes, under his sunglasses. He pushes the glasses further back up onto his nose upon withdrawing his hand, the one that had previously been in my lap.

“You drove me insane first. You’re right, I didn’t really mind before, but it still bothered me a little, okay? Yes, it bothered me more that someone else might think that I just let you leave all the time to take secretive calls, and I know that’s stupid and shallow and terrible, but I’m trying, too,” I pause, allowing myself to breathe from my hurried speech, “I’m just not as good at trying as you are, I guess.”

He says my name in almost a whisper before he responds, “You can’t start thinking of what other people will see when they look at us – that’s how problems start. What we have is just between you and me, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, “But problems will come too if you make me feel guilty every time I bring up something that’s bothering me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. This is my fault, I’m just nervous about the trip I guess. I want to make sure everything goes… smoothly.”

“I’m too tired to ask what you mean by that,” I say. He laughs a bit.

“You have your own life, Stella. You see people you know on campus, you have classes with boys who seem to pop up elsewhere too often, you have friends at work. I’ll never know about that part of your life, and as much as I’d love to know everything, I’d never be angry with you about keeping it yours. You see?”

“No, Charlie, that’s a terrible comparison,” I say it deadpan enough that he laughs.

“You’re right. Eventually I want to feel okay to be as nosy as I please, and I’d never mind showing you any part of my life. Those calls – they aren’t secretive in the way that you think they are. Just trust me, okay?”

I push my back further into my seat, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to ease their stiffness. “I trust you.”

“Good,” he says. He must notice me wince as I arch my back, because he reaches over in an instant and begins to massage between my shoulder blades, keeping his other hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

“You didn’t… you didn’t mean what you said earlier, did you? I mean, about how things aren’t as easy for us as they seem, and ‘how long will I last,’” he quotes me, “Is that how you really feel?”

“No,” I ease his mind quickly, “I just think – well, I think that you can’t be afraid that I won’t love you when you upset me; and I can’t be afraid of loving you so much, even when I’m upset with you, and I can’t be afraid of what that really means… to me or to anyone else. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” he smiles, moving his hand from his shoulder to my lap again. “I’m excited to show you around the city.”

His fingers fumble with mine when I lay my hand in his, before he links them together.

“Your hands are oddly chilly,” I note. Charlie always has warm hands. “Are you too cold?”

“No, are you?”

“Oh God, don’t start that again,” I giggle.

Charlie grins for a moment before he clears his throat, sniffles, and then he squeezes my hand slightly. I collect quickly that the chill to his skin is from nerves. What could he possibly be so worried about? As I think back to what he said about wanting things to go “smoothly,” I wonder if it is I who should be nervous.