CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
The silence that follows is suffocating. I feel it like a punch to the ribs, which makes me want to wring the motherfucker who dared to call himself her boyfriend’s neck.
“I didn’t even cry,” she continues, eyes fixed on the floor. “I closed the door, walked back downstairs, and poured everyone another glass of wine. I got drunk for the first time ever that night.”
“Jesus, Lina…”
She folds her arms, like it doesn’t matter. Like she didn’t rip the floor out from under me. “Anyway,” she mutters, “we don’t have to talk about that.”
I was not expecting to have this conversation with her—not now, or ever—but there’s a small part of me that is folding for her, piece by piece, and a bit bigger part of me that is slowly convincing myself she won’t remember any of this in the morning.
It causes me to wring my hands together in front of me, focusing on the blue wren tattooed on my hand, the mosaic frame further up my wrist, and then the bouquet of flowers on my bicep.
“I never thought I’d be this way either.”
“What do you mean?” She turns toward me, our legs bumping together with the motion.
“My mom died too. It happened when I was seventeen, and I haven’t been the same since,” I tell her, running my hands up and down my slack-clad thighs. “I don’t think anyone can be the same after losing someone so close to them. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling different because of it.”
I don’t tell her the full story, and maybe that’s because I’m not drunk like she is. I have nothing to numb me or loosen the restraint I have on my words. Still, all I want is to empathize with her—make her feel better.
“Is that what Braxton and Meredith mean when they talk about your mommy issues?”
“Wow, alcohol really kills your filter, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t think I had one to begin with.” I can’t tell whether she’s beginning to sober up or if she’s the rare type of drunk that is capable of using it as conversation leverage.
“Yeah, that’s what they mean…” I answer her question. “And I can’t say I blame them.”
Lina’s lips purse, and then she says, “Well, I’ve got you beat. I have mommy and daddy issues.”
“You can have that victory, pretty girl.”
It knocks her back a bit, the way the pet name fell from my lips so effortlessly. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t exactly expecting to say it either. I’ve said it to her before, but that was a much less intimate environment.
Yet, looking at her sitting in bed with her big eyes and long brown hair draped over one of her shoulders, how could I not?
I watch her carefully, her head lulling back and forth like she’s trying her best to stay awake, but her tiredness is slowly starting to take over. It’s exactly what I was hoping for by bringing her up here—for her to finally get some sleep.
“Why don’t you get in bed?” I offer, standing and pulling the comforter back for her to, hopefully, climb under.
She stands, stumbling and grabbing my arm to steady herself before saying. “I can’t sleep in this.”
At this point, I’m positive the only reason Lina hasn’t come to her senses and tried to flee from my bedroom is due to her inability to balance. Which is why I grab each of her shoulders and slowly guide her so she’s sitting back down on the bed.
“Hold on, hold on,” I say cautiously when she tries to stand again, only to fall right back on her ass. “I’ll get you something. Just give me a second.”
“Okay,” she says with a long breath, like it’s the best news she’s heard all day.
I turn toward my dresser, pulling the top drawer open and grabbing a t-shirt—one that I keep here for the nights I stay—and when I spin back around to hand it to her, she has completely disposed of the silk robe that was covering her.
Lina’s now sitting on my bed in only a matching set of white lingerie. My jaw unhinges from the sight of her.
“Jesus,” I mutter quietly, “just put this on, would you?”
And in one swift motion, without me being able to do anything about it, Lina rips the small piece of white, lacy fabric over her head in one fell swoop.
“Lina!” My voice wavers, half panic, half disbelief.
She sways a little. “What?” she says, like I’m the one acting strange. Her brows draw together in confusion, and maybe in her mind, this makes perfect sense.
I whip around, turning my back so fast I nearly trip over my own feet. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter again, gripping the edge of my dresser like it might keep me from combusting.
Behind me, there’s a rustle of fabric and then her voice, quieter now. “Sorry,” she says, and for the first time all night, she sounds small. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“It’s not weird,” I say quickly, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re drunk. And I’m… trying not to be a complete asshole.”
Another long beat passes in silence. Then, softly: “I didn’t think you’d care.”
My jaw tightens. “I care, Lina.”
She’s quiet again. I hear the soft tug of cotton, the fabric of the t-shirt brushing against skin.
I exhale slowly and chance a glance over my shoulder.
She’s pulled the shirt on—thank God— and has her knees tucked to her chest, hair messy, looking about as far from seductive as someone can while still completely undoing me.
“Maybe I should go,” I say, pointing toward the door and slowly stepping back.
“No!” She straightens quickly.
“Lina—”
“I’m not trying to mess with you,” she says, her voice heavy with something I can’t name. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
My cheeks puff with the long breath I let out, falling to her will. “Okay.”
Lina’s eyes well again, and it makes me take two quick steps forward.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she repeats, almost methodically.
I sense this may be one of the reasons she hasn’t been sleeping. And if there’s something I can do to help her get a little rest, I’ll do it. Easily.
“You’re not,” I say, softer now. “You’re not alone.”
She nods, slow and tired, and I make my way back over. I pull the blanket up and over her, tugging it gently to her shoulders. She’s already curling into my pillow, eyes fluttering shut.
I hesitate for a second, then sit back down beside her, this time with my back pressed to the headboard. Her breathing starts to even out, the rise and fall of her chest slowing as the weight of everything finally pulls her under.
I stay awake.
Because while nothing happens, it feels as though everything changes. No matter how wrecked she is, no matter how badly I want to pull her into me and keep her safe—tonight isn’t about that.
Tonight, I just stay.