Chapter Seven - Late Night Confessions
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It's almost eleven when we get home. After dropping off Xaiver and Asher, we finally got Norah into my house—almost without any trouble. She had suddenly became almost lifeless in the car, body limp, all the while whining softly under her breath and then for some reason hysterically began to cry.
Mom had unfortunately woken up to our struggling to get my crying, drunk friend inside.
She was obviously concerned but I just explained what happened and she informed me to take a trash can up for her and put it by the bed just in case she throws up, which in the state she's in, I'm almost positive she will at some point.
Now she's passed out in the blow up mattress next to my bed with a bottle of water and trash can next to her. In fear of her puking, I'd much rather her sleep alone and on the floor.
No offense, Norah.
After brushing my teeth, I walk out of my bathroom to see Dylan grabbing a pillow off my bed. He's changed into some basketball shorts now.
"What are you doing?" I ask him quietly.
"Was gonna sleep on the couch," he tells me and my mouth forms into an O shape before shaking my head and shrugging.
"You don't have to do that," I remark, pushing my hair behind my ear. I could really use some comforting.
"Don't mind if I sleep with you?" he questions with a small smile and I smile back myself with a shake of my head.
The room is dark and quiet besides the fan running for sleep noise. I'm not very drunk anymore but I feel a little buzz still there and my stomach feels a bit queasy. My throat is also still a little dry, even after chugging a full water bottle.
Dylan's hard shoulder presses against me as we lie there. We haven't really said much since we got in bed but I think I'd rather just go to sleep anyway. I'm just in need of some physical contact for comfort.
I roll over on my side to face him, closing my eyes when he reaches over to rub circles on my arm—almost like he read my mind. He turns on his side towards me, fresh breath wafting towards me and it makes my insides tingle.
"Are we gonna talk about earlier?" he then asks, voice quiet and raspy in the dark and I swallow, licking at my dry lips.
"What about earlier?" I'm playing dumb but I'm honestly not sure which part he's talking about. My obvious upset state or the random call I gave him for a dare that just so happened to be true.
"You know what," he responds and I do.
He means both of those things.
"I had to call you for a dare—a drinking game," I explain vaguely but I'm not done even though I don't continue immediately after.
"Did you?"
I nod, though he can't see me, I know he can feel it.
"So it was just a dare?" he asks and behind his tone, I can sense something. Like he's testing me for my real answer. As much as I hate it, I can't help but love it. He's always been emotionally intelligent.
"Yes." I stay confident in my answer even though I'm lying to him.
"Promise?"
"Stop."
Dammit. There it is. He knows how I feel about promises and my struggle to keep a lie when asked.
"What if I told you that. . . me too—"
My breath hitches slightly and I'm looking up at him, though I can barely see him, only the twinkles in his light brown eyes shine through the looming dark.
"A few times actually," he speaks again and I'm not exactly sure what to say but I feel like my breathing is heavy.
When I don't say anything soon after, he says, "is that bad?"
"Bad?" I restate. "No. . . Weird? Maybe. Only because we're best friends, ya know?"
"Yeah," he agrees quietly, calloused finger tips rubbing against the skin on my arm. I feel goosebumps rise and I slightly shudder. "They make me feel—"
"Weird towards me?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, me too."
It goes quiet again.
"You know you can tell me things like that. It's not weird since we're so close. I mean, I don't feel completely awkward about it," he reassures me and I smile faintly in the dark. This is good to know. It almost feels like a relief to tell him the thing that's been stuck in my head for the past 48 hours.
"I know, I just—I don't know. . ."
"Nick?" he questions and I feel my insides clench at his name.
I nod.
"Did something happen with you two earlier?"
I nod again, feeling like my eyes will betray me with a flood of tears again. I don't know what exactly will happen with us after this. I feel so different now. I don't know if we'll be the same as we were.
"Talk to me," he says quietly, gently squeezing my upper arm in his hand.
"I don't want to cry," I tell him shortly.
"It's okay," he reassures me and just hearing these words already makes my eyes turn the faucet on.
"We tried to have sex again," I blurt, my voice already straining in my throat. It hurts. "I wasn't ready. Again. He told me he loved me but I don't know if he really meant it or just wanted to get me to have sex with him—but I was drunk and it didn't feel right. Again. And then he saw you calling during the middle of it happening and I answered your call instead of getting on with it and he—he got mad at me, Dylan, and I don't like what he said and now I just don't want to talk to him for awhile and I've never felt like that." By the end of my rant, I'm full on crying and it was already so hard to get everything out without sounding like a complete blubbering mess in his face.
He pulls me to him, his chest smelling of cologne and it reminds me of my dream again. He rubs my back and through my hair, trying to soothe me but it's hard to catch my breath.
"I'm just sad, Dyl," I sigh. "I don't know how to feel exactly. I'm conflicted."
"Well what did he say to you?"
I'm quiet again because I don't want to tell him. It almost embarrasses me and I don't know why.
"Lydia?"
"Nothing, it's fine."
"What did he say?" His voice is soft but pleading for me to tell him.
"He just said that. . . that I basically prioritize you over pretty much everything else, which like—do you think that's true and I don't really understand why that's such a bad thing?"
I only sum up what Nick was implying, instead of telling him the way he mocked me.
He's quiet for a second and I assume he's processing this. "Like I said, you're always there for me, Lyd but that isn't a bad thing unless it's affecting you in anyway—"
"But it's not. . ." I say quietly. I want to be there for him. Always, whenever I can be.
"But it clearly is with your relationship," he states and I shake my head.
"I had no idea it was a problem, Dyl. He never mentioned it once."
"Probably an ego thing," he tells me and I think about it. That's probably true.
"Yeah."
"Did you break up with him?" he asks me and I exhale, shaking my head.
"No but. . ."
"But what?"
"For some reason, I feel like we—I won't be able to come back from this. I'm just so upset and mad that he said that to me, Dyl. . . He made me feel terrible."
He made me feel like I needed to choose.
"That's fair," he agrees quietly. I feel his hand move to the back of my hair, playing with strands of it and it feels really good.
"Does that make me, like. . . kind of flakey? I mean, I was on the verge of falling in love with him, ya know? But something like this threw me off almost completely," I tell him and it's true.
I feel like someone who really is in love can't just switch up their feelings that easily, but I know that after so long of being with someone you start seeing more of them and the flaws in your eyes. It's why none of my mom's dating works out since my dad. First impression, they act like someone they're not.
And dad wasn't perfect but he was to her. I want that.
"Not flakey," he reassures me, shaking his head. "Maybe it just means you know what means more to you and you won't let him manipulate you into feeling bad about it. I think you're validated."
I let a small smile curve on my face in the dark, feeling better by his words. I just want to ask the girls what they think too before I decide to throw 6 months away. I don't know if that's what I really want. Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow when I'm fully sober, thinking more clearly, instead of so emotionally.
"Thank you for making me feel better." Which isn't new. I know I can always talk to him about things that matter to me. Things just feel a little different after my dream.
"What else am I here for?" His tone is playful as he pulls me closer to him. I softly inhale his heavenly smell, squeezing him to me.
"Honestly," I joke, laughing quietly when he reaches down to pinch my side. "Anyway, enough about me. How was your night?"
"It was good," he tells me and I can practically sense the small smile on his face. "I'm glad I can manage to have a good time without alcohol."
"Right. You're just so better than everyone," I tease.
"It comes naturally," he plays along.
I don't want to ask but I do anyway because I am somehow curious at the same time.
"You and Ambree?" I feel my breath hitch a bit, waiting for his response.
"Yeah, uh, we're cool. Just hangin' out," he tells me and I nod shortly.
"You like her?"
"I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't go that far yet because we've only hung out a few times and I'm not sure what to make of it but she's a little different when she's not around people."
"What do you mean? What's she like?"
"Better. Not as. . ." He searches for the word.
"Fake?"
"Yeah."
"Mm," I hum. It's kind of hard for me to imagine Ambree being anything other than fake.
"She can be funny too," he adds, seeming surprised himself.
Something inside my stomach pinches and I think it's jealously. I don't like the thought of him laughing with someone else like we do, let alone someone else making him laugh. I know sense of humor would be a big thing for him to truly like someone.
I'm done with the conversation. I can't help it. I don't want to hear more about her.
"Anything from your mom—or him?"
"She's texted me a few times to check in and asks when I'll be home. I told her when I cool down but I don't feel like I have and it's been like three days," he tells me and I nod slowly with a frown. "He tried calling me once and I immediately declined it. Not sure how he got my new number. She probably gave it to him." He let's out an unbelievable scoff.
I shrug slightly next to him. "He's not staying at your house, is he—?"
"Jesus christ," he sighs, sounding distressed just at the thought. "I hope he's not. He better not be."
I couldn't imagine his mom letting him back into their home but then again she kind of let him back in anyway.
"I just feel like. . . so angry. Ever since I saw him."
"I would be angry too."
"Yeah but Lyd," he starts quietly, hesitant. "I feel enraged. I-I just want to punch shit and I did after I saw him—I don't do that and it scares me because I'm not him. I don't want to be aggressive but I can't help the way I'm feeling."
I think back to Thursday after seeing his dad and how he had punched the wheel. His hand was red and shaking. I'm not used to seeing him like that.
"I know. . ." I say softly, scooting closer to put my head on the top of his collarbone. "It's okay to feel that way as long as you don't hurt anyone or yourself, you know? And you won't. You're right, you're not him."
I feel him rub at my back, pulling me into a tight hug as his lips press into my hair.
At this point, I have no doubt we will always be here for one another and that's my favorite thing about this friendship.