A few hours later it was almost midnight and my phone was ringing again. Trying to bite back my irritation, I reached for it. Dakota grabbed it first, though, and as expected, he had a scowl on his face when he saw who it was.
He handed it back over to me. "He's called you like eight fucking times tonight."
"This is the seventh," I mumbled, staring at Dante's name flashing across the screen until it went black again. It was prom night for his school too and I hadn't heard from him since I'd told him how I felt...what I had wanted us to become. That had been three weeks ago, but it felt like a lot longer inside my head.
"I know, I'm sorry," I told Dakota earnestly.
The phone lit up again as Dante called once more. I was about to reject it when Dakota stopped me with a surprisingly gentle hand over mine. "Just answer it. He's probably not going to quit calling until you do."
Groaning and with my heart racing from anxiety, I got off of the bed and slipped out of Dakota's room. I quietly shut the door behind me and started to walk down the hall, wishing I was doing just about anything besides answering the call.
I took a deep breath before finally hitting the answer button and to be completely honest, I was terrified. I had no idea what Dante wanted to say to me--especially after weeks of silence--and all I could picture was the harsh look in his eyes when he'd told me I'd never meant more to him than a means for sexual gratification.
I wished it didn't even bother me anymore, but there were some things that managed to hit you right in the core of your insecurities that stuck with you much longer than you want them to. That was one of them. It still made me sick to think about how mortifying those last few minutes I'd spent with him were.
I put the phone to my ear, but I couldn't make any words come out of my mouth. On the other end of the line I could hear the echoing sounds of loud music behind Dante's steady breathing. It didn't take more than a few seconds to realize he was calling me from his prom venue. I couldn't help but wonder who he went with--if it was a girl, that one named Maia, maybe? Or maybe he just went with his friends. It didn't matter anyway, I decided.
"Fuck," I heard him mutter to himself, the vowel drawn out too far. "Why isn't it--oh. Harley? Harley did you pick up?"
I swallowed. He sounded hopeful and the slur in his voice was evident. I figured he'd probably been drinking with his friends the whole night. I could hear someone else speaking in the background but I couldn't make out their words.
"Harley? Are you there?" Dante asked loudly into the speaker. I flinched but didn't pull the phone away from my ear. "Please, just say something, okay?"
"How's prom?" I asked. Because with everything soaring through my mind, I couldn't put any other words together.
"Harley! Hey, it's so good to talk to you. I miss you," he said. This time the words were slurred together so harshly it was hard to make them out. I could hear the smile in his voice, though. I awkwardly scratched the back of my neck and I seriously regretted answering. "Can I come ov--Russ, shut the fuck up I'm trying to talk to my boyfriend!"
While there was scuffling taking place between two people on the other end of the line, I froze. My brain came to a jarring halt, as if all of its data had been momentarily wiped clean.
Then my heart stopped racing from anxiety and went into overdrive fueled by anger and fear. My skin itched for me to run, to hide, to be anywhere but on a plane of existence where Dante had just used my name in conjunction with him referring to his boyfriend while he was in public.
I didn't run; however, I did recover enough of my brain activity to scream, "What the fuck did you just say?" into the phone. My blood was suddenly boiling to the point that I thought it would burst out of my veins. I began to pace, clutching the phone tightly to my ear.
Dante wasn't talking to me, though. Instead, he was yelling at his friend, Russ, who I remembered was one of his closest friends. "Leave me alone," Dante was saying, nearly shouting now and I cringed, feeling the urge to vomit. I could only imagine how many people were watching him right then. "I'm trying to make up with Harley and you're annoying the shit out of me."
I could hear Russ' more distant, clearly more level-headed voice saying, "He doesn't want to hear your drunk ass right now. Why the hell do you think it took ten calls for him to answer you?"
"Shut the fuck up or I'll beat your ass," Dante growled. Then more directly in the phone he said, "Sorry, Harley, he's a pain in the ass."
I didn't say anything. I was fuming and my face hurt from how tightly my muscles were knitting my brows together. My jaw began to ache from clenching it.
"Still there? Uh, yeah it says so. Harl--?"
"What?" I snapped. I didn't know how to handle the emotions I was feeling; fury and terror clashing together inside my chest. I could feel my hands shaking now because it was obvious that Russ knew about what Dante and I were--or had been. He probably wasn't the only one either. I should have hung up, should have never answered to begin with, but I couldn't. I was seething. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you even realize what you're doing?"
"Hey, please don't be mad at me anymore, I--"
Again, I cut him off. "What the fuck do you want from me?"
As he spoke next, I could hear his effort in trying to sound less intoxicated and more sincere, but it didn't help much on the slurring front. I could have slapped him if I were standing next to him; I was glad I wasn't. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said, okay, but I really didn't mean it."
"You're drunk right now," I hissed. I stopped pacing and leaned against the wall with my hand.
"No, I mean, maybe sort of, but that doesn't change what I'm saying to you."
"You can't even speak properly."
"Can I come over? Please, I'll make it up to you, promise. I'll let you fuck me as much as you want. I'm sorry," he said. The last apology came out in a long whine.
As much as he might have meant his apology to be something grand, it was nothing short of offensive and wrong in all the right places. I could tell that he didn't even understand what he was trying to apologize for and that hurt more than I wanted it to.
I bit my tongue and breathed in and out deeply once. I was having a hard time trying to reign in my temper, but somehow it was working. "You should be sorry, but I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."
"Harley, come on. Please let me make it up to. I'll come over and we can have makeup sex and it will be great."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to understand why I hadn't hung up on him yet. Part of me was stupidly hoping that his words would turn into a real, meaningful admission of regret. But yet again, Dante just thought that it only came down to sex as the root of our problems; not, however, that he made me feel small and worthless both now and the last time we spoke.
"You're so fucking clueless, Dante. This phone call is pointless, you're drunk. Go sober up and if you manage to wrap your head around what the real issue is, maybe we can try this again."
"Baby--"
"No," I said firmly, needing to cut him off before he said anything else. "Don't you dare say that to me. I am done. I've moved on. If you want to talk, fine, maybe. But there is no 'us.' "
"See what did I tell you?" Russ said to Dante.
I breathed out through my nose and shook my head. Hearing Russ' words only caused me to remember that this conversation was now public. I didn't think things could get worse; I was tired of it all. So I took the phone away as Dante hurriedly spoke, "Harley wait--"
I hung up before he finished his sentence. My entire body was trembling by that point as I stared down at my phone. I wanted to cry but I also didn't want to. I wanted to punch a wall, break my phone, or throw up, but I couldn't think to do anything. The communication between my muscles and my brain seemed to be broken for the moment, so I just stood there, breathing and scowling intensely.
Eventually, it took three tries to slip my phone into my pocket, because my hands were shaking so much. I leaned against the wall with my back and covered my face with my hands. I bent forward slightly and brought my hands up through the front of my hair and raked them back through it.
"Are you okay?"
Dakota's voice was hesitant, unsure, as it reached my ears. I looked over at him and forced a smile onto my face. I tried to smooth out my hair and quickly said, "Yeah, I'm fine."
Dakota held out his hand as I drew closer to where he stood in his doorway. I took it and he met my eyes steadily. "Please don't lie to me, Harley."
I felt my face fall, unable to keep up the charade of composure. He pulled me after him into his room, shutting the door again, and sat us down on his bed. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest. My hands clung to the fabric of his shirtsleeves.
"It's okay," he whispered into my hair. That's when I noticed that I was still shaking as he held me. I felt the frustration begin to build again; why the fuck did Dante have to rattle me like that? "It's alright, Harley."
I pressed my face against him and just let him hold onto me for a while until I calmed down. When my body had gone mostly still, he made to pull away but I held on tighter. I couldn't look him in the eyes. I felt stupid for the way I was acting and then felt even more stupid for thinking that, because I knew I couldn't help it. I didn't have that much control over what affected me and what didn't. Plus, I decided, my current state of conflicting emotions were completely valid given the situation.
I guess Dakota thought so too, because he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" I felt his fingers soothing their way through my curls.
I shook my head against him. "It's stupid. It doesn't matter."
"Sort of seems like it does."
"I just feel like a fucking idiot. And I shouldn't talk about it to you, it's not fair."
"I'd rather you did talk to me," he asserted. "I care about how you're feeling. And when it comes to Dante, I don't know--"
"Stupid," I interrupted. "That's how I feel. I can't believe that even after the way he treated me that I'm still letting him get to me. He didn't care about me when I needed him to and I don't need or want it now."
"What did he say?"
I chuckled darkly, thinking about everything that just happened. "Well for fucking one I'm pretty sure he just outed me to half of the people at his prom."
Dakota stiffened against me. He pulled back to look at me but I was aggravatedly rubbing my face with my hands. "What the fuck?"
"He was drunk," I mumbled through my hands, resigning myself to the reality that people knew my biggest secret, my biggest lie. I felt my chest constrict. "And he was yelling. He called me his boyfriend and he used my name. I don't know about you, but what other Harleys do you know around here?"
It was silent for two seconds, then he decisively said, "I'm gonna kick his ass."
Dakota's words came out sounding so much like a fact set in concrete that I looked up at him, surprised. I shook my head. "He's not worth it."
"No, but he can't do things like this to you, Harley. He can't just mess with your head like this. It's sick. No to mention how badly he violated your privacy by outing you!"
"He was drunk."
"That's not an excuse," Dakota snapped. "Literally two hours ago we were talking about coming out. This isn't the way it's supposed to happen. It was supposed to be on your terms when you felt comfortable. Not some drunken babbling from a moronic jock!"
"Don't yell at me," I said, gesturing towards my chest, panic rising once again. "What am I supposed to do about it? It's already been said!"
Dakota huffed and turned his head away from me. He was glaring off into the air in front of him. I gently touched his arm and he met my eyes again, speaking more calmly. "People are going to be talking, whether they think it's true or not. Who knows what else he's been saying about you tonight?"
I groaned at the thought but desperately wanted to lighten the mood so that I wouldn't continue feeling like my legs had been ripped out from under me. Or maybe I wanted to be as far in denial about people knowing my sexuality as I could. Either way I joked, "Have they invented time machines yet? Because I need to go back and make sure he never makes it to prom."
Dakota wasn't laughing. He was still stuck in his thoughts as he ignored me and said, "And he can't go around telling people you're his boyfriend. That's fucked up on numerous levels. You aren't dating him, you're dating me."
"You don't have to be jealous," I told him, trying to be delicate about the subject, but I also couldn't believe that that was what he was focusing on out of everything.
He glared. "Well thanks for the tip. That changes everything."
"Dakota, come on."
"No, don't start with me."
I was taken aback by his harsh tone. "Why are you getting so angry?"
He pulled away from my touch and stood up. I watched him closely as he folded his arms over his chest and looked down at me. His voice become scarily serious. "Do you wish you'd never started dating me?"
My mouth dropped and my eyes widened. "Are you insane? Of course not!"
"Don't act like it's such a crazy thought. You have feelings for him."
The accusation hung thick in the air. I shook my head and stood up to stand next to him. I was surprised when he didn't move away from me.
"I had feelings for him--past tense. I don't anymore."
"You don't just turn that shit off. I would know," Dakota said pointedly. He stared me in the eye and his voice grew softer, more resigned and I didn't like it. "Just tell me. Do you regret this?"
I shook my head and grabbed his hands tightly in mine. "Not even a little. How can you think that?" I asked. But then I also thought, how could he not?
He shrugged, looking more defeated than I'd ever seen him. I felt like a part of my chest was being crushed as he cast his eyes down to our joined hands. "I just needed to ask."
I was frowning now and I could feel the crease forming between my eyebrows again.
"Hey," I whispered, hoping he'd look up at me. When he didn't, I just squeezed his hands in mine a little tighter, slightly fearing that he'd try to pull away from me. Which, right now, I didn't think I could take that.
I took a deep breath and said, "Dakota, I know what you're trying to say but it's not like that. Not anymore."
Dakota was still silent, but he was at least looking at me now. I continued by saying, "Every time I think about him, I think about how he treated me, how he just wanted me for sex; he told me as much too. Now that I'm gone, he thinks he can use my feelings against me just to get me back in bed. But that's not okay with me, there's more to me than that and I want to spend my time with someone who sees that."
"You say that now," he said, quietly.
"Yeah and I mean it too. Dakota, I'm not fucking around here, our relationship isn't a joke to me. I want you."
"I want you too," he whispered. "I love you, but I don't want it to feel like one day I'll be waking up from a dream."
"I don't want that either. I've been a selfish jerk with you before, yes, and I'm so sorry about that. But I also know how it feels to be messed with and I really do not want to do that to you. I have never purposely meant to hurt you and that's the last thing I would try to do now." I said. "I'm not going anywhere."
It took a while but eventually he stopped scrutinizing my face long enough to nod. "Okay."
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a crushing hug. As he wrapped his arms around me yet again, I melted against him. I didn't know what exactly it was, but being with him like that just made me feel so much more at home than ever. I guess it sort of felt like he filled in every single gap I'd ever had in my life--even the ones I hadn't realized existed.