Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s nearly one when I drag myself out of bed to eat lunch with my family, and then I start the drive back to campus. Thankfully, I was able to sleep off most of my hangover, and with a clear head, I know what I need to do.
I don’t go to my apartment. I drive straight past it, winding through the main street of town until I reach the turnoff for Wes’s house.
I don’t think as I park along the curb. I don’t think as I turn off the car.
I don’t think as I climb the stairs to his front door and ring the bell.
Because if I start thinking too much, I’ll talk myself out of listening to my heart instead of my head.
Waiting on his steps, I cross my arms against the chill in the air. I shift from foot to foot until the door swings open.
And then he’s there, filling the doorway like he always does.
Bare feet. Navy sweatpants. Gray t-shirt.
He looks tired, and my eyes zero in on the dark bags under his eyes, certain I’m sporting a similar pair.
A layer of dark stubble coats his jaw, and his curls are sticking up in the wrong directions, like he spent all day in bed with his head smushed against a pillow.
His eyes flicker to life when he sees me, but that dazzling smile is nowhere to be found. My heart yearns for it. Aches for it. Because once I see it, the sun will rise and the birds will sing and I’ll know everything will be okay.
I should probably offer up an explanation as to why I’m here unannounced, but my body has other ideas.
I rush him. There’s no other way to describe what I do.
I barrel into him, my arms encircling his waist and my cheek pressing against his solid chest while I squeeze him as tight as I can.
It’s been less than forty-eight hours since I’ve seen him, but it feels like eons.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, and his arms tighten around me. He clings to me the same way I cling to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Shh. Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair.
We stand like that for a while, holding each other, and then he tugs me inside, shutting out the cold. As we break apart, reality sets in. My mood dampens once again.
I hate that I came here for a reason.
“I’m sorry to just come by like this,” I mumble, having difficulty meeting his eyes. I focus on his neck instead, my heart pounding as I work up the nerve to meet them. When I do, they look saddened by my apology.
“I’m always glad to see you,” he says softly, and I almost choke on my guilt.
My stomach rolls with nerves as I ask, “Can we talk? In your room, maybe?”
Wes nods, but I can tell by his eyes that he’s anxious about my request. His stress makes my chest ache, even more so when he manages a small smile, clearly putting on a brave face. “Of course, Ives,” he says easily. “I need a break from work anyway, and you’re always a welcome distraction.”
I follow him up to his room and shed my coat, resting it on the dresser, and although I’m well-acquainted with the bed at this point, I opt to sink into the office chair instead.
Wes sits opposite me on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight, and regards me with a hesitant smile. “What do you want to talk about?”
I shift. Swallow. My insides twist, the sandwich I had for lunch threatening to come back up.
“The way I reacted to you on Friday was not…” I trail off, searching for the right word.
“Normal. The way I reacted to you wasn’t normal, and, well, I’m not sure what conclusions you might have come to on your own, but, um, I wanted to explain. ”
I open my mouth to continue and then shut it, needing a moment to gather my thoughts.
My hands are shaking, and I tuck them under my thighs, conscious of Wes watching my every move with concern behind his eyes.
Judging by the grim set of his mouth and the stiffness of his spine, he knows that whatever I’m about to say is not going to be good.
Still, I can’t form the words. My pulse kicks against my ribs, and I feel a little light-headed. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remain in control. Trying to gather the courage to say what needs to be said.
We sit in silence for a long time. Too long. But Wes doesn’t push me to speak, somehow knowing that I’m building up to whatever I’m about to say.
Finally, I open my eyes.
“Okay, well. Here it goes.” I clear my throat a little. “M-my, um, junior year of high school, I went to a party. There was a g-guy…” I trail off, the edges of my lips twitching down as my mouth dries up. My eyes drop to my knees, blurry and unfocused. “There was a guy, and he—”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. DON’T FUCKING SAY IT.
I can’t say it.
I won’t say it.
I suck in a breath and attempt a reroute, looking for the workaround. Searching for the shortcut past acceptance. Settling for vague explanations because it’s all I’m capable of.
I try again.
“Something, um, happened to me. At the party. With him.”
I press my lips together. Clench my teeth so hard they hurt.
That’s it. That’s all I can manage, and I can’t tell if it’s enough to convey what I need him to understand.
Swallowing past the sudden thickness in my throat, I tentatively look up at the man across from me.
His eyes roam my face, processing what little I’ve revealed, and I see the moment he finally comprehends the weight of my words.
The sun sets on Wes’s face. I watch it happen in real time, dark shadow eclipsing his light, and my heart cracks in half. He pales, looking stricken, his features etched with pure devastation. “Ivy,” he breathes, wrecked by my admission, and I try not to crumble right then and there.
I swallow. Shake my head. Do anything I can to downplay and wipe that expression off his face. “It’s okay.” It’s not. “It’s fine.” It’s not. “I just…”
Words escape me, so I shrug.
“Ivy,” he whispers again.
Unable to bear the broken look on his face, I look up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. I will not cry. Crying will make it too real. “I just…I don’t really want to think about it, you know? But, um, I wanted you to know. So there. When I, um, freaked out on Friday, it wasn’t because of you.”
“Ivy.” When I meet his eyes, they’re shining with unshed tears.
His hands twitch against his lap, like he wants to reach out and touch me but thinks better of it.
My heart gives a sharp pang. After Friday, I don’t blame him.
“I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing I can say. I’m so sorry.”
I have to look away, or I’m going to completely lose it, so I drop my eyes to the center of his chest. I picture his heart beating in synchronicity with mine, thud thump, thud thump, thud thump, and for some reason, that’s a comfort.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, almost to myself. “It’s okay.”
My eyes lift, watching his throat bob as he swallows. “I thought maybe…I thought you might have been triggered by something, but I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t think it was a good idea. I was worried I’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing and make it worse.”
I nod once. I nod twice. I keep nodding, this time unable to stop the tears welling in the corners of my eyes.
I avert my gaze to the ceiling again and blink them back because it’s pretty freaking shattering to have someone suspect that you were triggered.
To know they had to imagine what you must have experienced in your past that would wrench that kind of fear, anger, and panic from a person so suddenly and with such violence.
“It’s okay,” I say again, the question I’m most afraid to ask hovering at the back of my throat. It takes a couple tries to get it out right. “D-does this change things?”
“You mean between us?” I nod and attempt a watery smile.
It wobbles down into a frown as I wonder, are we different now?
Have I tainted us? Wes leans across the space between us, gently taking my hand in both of his.
His eyes swim with an emotion I can’t put my finger on, but that comforts me nonetheless.
“No, Ivy. It changes nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.”
I’m trying really hard now not to cry, and my voice comes out as a squeak. “So, we’re still best friends?”
“Come here,” he says, tugging me out of the office chair.
He pulls me close so I’m standing between his parted thighs, both my hands grasped in his.
Our foreheads bend together as his eyes bore into mine.
“Ives, we are the best fucking friends this world has ever seen. We’re bulletproof, baby.
Think about it. Think about what we’ve been up against so far. ”
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
“Public Speaking. A crazy frat party. Online rumors. My ex, on multiple occasions. A black eye. A snowstorm. Jealous roommates. Your twin bed.” I crack a smile at that.
“What else am I missing? Oh yeah. The Star Wars Prequels. Our friendship definitely could have ended over the decision to rewatch those.”
“It was your idea.”
“It was a bad one. But we’re still here, aren’t we? So if you think for a second that something you confided in me about your past is going to change anything, think again. I’m afraid you might be stuck with me.”
Still standing between his legs, I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
His arms envelop my back, pulling me to him, and I lean into the safety of his body as his hands stroke up and down my spine.
His kindness is overwhelming, and a few tears leak out as I press myself closer.
Somehow, it’s still not close enough, and maybe that’s what makes me break down.
“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as I cry quietly into his neck. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”