Chapter Thirteen Colin
Chapter Thirteen
Colin
“Smile, my love!” my mum says excitedly as she snaps a picture of me holding my diploma in front of our university.
There’s a crowd around us of parents and their graduates.
I lost track of Declan somewhere in the chaos of walking across the stage and then out to the common area to meet our families.
I think his sister is here—at least, I hope she is. I hate to think about him being alone.
My mother wraps an arm around my waist and reaches onto her tiptoes to kiss me on the side of the head. “I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Our driver has already picked up your things at the residence hall, so if you’re ready, darling, let’s get you home where you belong.” She loops her arm through mine and tugs me toward the car park.
I glance around, seeking Declan. I can’t leave without at least saying goodbye. “Mum, I need to find a friend. Can I meet you at the car?”
“Of course,” she replies sweetly. As she releases my arm, she walks toward the lot, and I take off in search of my best friend.
Everything between Declan and me has been so normal and comfortable since the night at the pool—or as I’m referring to it, the greatest night of my life.
I still can’t believe that happened, and our friendship has only improved because of it.
Now, the idea of being without him for months on end has me feeling melancholy and nostalgic.
If I could start these four years over again, I would.
When Declan is nowhere in the crowd, I decide to go looking for him in our room. My side of the room is empty when I get there, but his is still packed in boxes on the floor by his bed.
And he’s lying on it, still wearing his graduation robe and sketching in his book with the familiar black charcoal.
“Hey, Shakespeare,” he says with a lopsided grin when he sees me enter. “I thought you left.”
My mouth is set into a straight line, and a blank expression is on my face as I fight the emotion bubbling to the surface. Is that all he’s going to give me? After all this time? Does he feel nothing?
“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you,” I mutter.
His eyes cast from the drawing to my face. “I don’t care for goodbyes.”
“I know you don’t,” I reply. “Did your sister show up?”
“Aye,” he mumbles focusing back on his sketch.
He’s shutting me out. I can tell, and I’ve known him long enough to know this is just how Declan reacts to tough moments like this.
Closing the door on the last four years is hard for me too.
Entering the room, I sit on my bed and watch him sketch for a moment. I just want to soak up the last moments of this time together before it’s over.
“Every summer, Declan,” I mumble softly.
“I know,” he replies despondently.
“And maybe more if we have time. You know you’re only a few hours away from me.”
“Aye.”
The longer he refuses to look at me or give me the attention I crave, the more tense I feel inside. I want to scream at him. I’d like to take that sketchbook and toss it across the room.
Instead, I act on impulse.
Lunging from my bed to his, I shove the book out of his hand and drape myself on his bed at his side. With his arm under my head, I wrap mine around his middle and hug him close.
“What the bloody hell are you doin’?” he asks, stunned by my erratic behavior. His body is stiff against mine.
“Stop ignoring me,” I mutter into his chest.
“You are such a slut for attention,” he growls, but after a moment he relaxes his body, wrapping me up into his arms and acting as if this is a normal thing for best friends to do.
We lie there for a moment as he holds me, and it doesn’t feel sexually charged or strange at all. Maybe this isn’t what other friends do, but I think Declan and I are just closer than any other friends are. Our relationship is special.
“Every summer,” he says softly. The vibration of his voice hums against my ear.
“Every summer,” I repeat.
“You’ll be busy becoming a star in the West End, and I’ll be… Well, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll be doing, but I’ll keep myself occupied until we see each other again.”
“You’ll be making exceptional art and getting featured in galleries and museums,” I say, staring at the wall as he looks up at the ceiling.
“You’re just saying that,” he replies.
“No, I’m not.”
“Next time we see each other, you can tell me about all the stellar blow jobs you’ve been giving,” he adds with a tight laugh. Something in me hardens at the sound.
I don’t want to experience that with anyone else, but I can’t tell him that. We are just friends after all.
Instead, I pick my head up to look at him. He turns his gaze toward me until we’re staring at each other, only a few inches apart. Immediately, the mood between us changes.
I keep thinking about that kiss, wondering if I could kiss him again. Would it change anything? Would it ever make me more than his friend?
Time stills as we gaze into each other’s eyes. Is he thinking the same thing I am? Does the memory of my lips haunt his dreams the way his do mine?
But if I kiss him now, then what? It can’t go any further. Not here and not now. We will say our goodbyes and wait another two months before we see each other again, and only for a week.
If I learned anything from that night in the gymnasium, it’s that Declan will always look at me like a friend. And I’d only be setting myself up for heartbreak to want anything more.
So, when I feel him lean in, I pull away.
“I’ll see you in two months,” I whisper. He looks stunned for a moment.
Then he quickly composes himself.
“Yeah, see you in two months,” he replies, clearing his throat.
I climb from the bed and swallow down the emotion building in my throat.
When I take a step toward the door, Declan sits up in a rush. “Shakespeare, wait.”
Turning around, I stare at him expectantly. He picks up his sketchbook and violently rips a page out. Then, with inky black fingers, he holds it out to me.
As I take the charcoal sketch, the pain in my throat gets worse. It stings relentlessly. And when I glance down at the drawing, I release the dam holding everything back.
A tear fills my lashes as I stare at the drawing on the page.
It’s me.
I’m laughing, my eyes crinkled at the edges as I look off into the distance.
It’s so impressive and lifelike. I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s not the proper and composed version of me, but the happy, relaxed version of me that matches how I feel inside.
Somehow, Declan always seems to see the real me.
“This is incredible, Dec,” I whisper, blinking a tear down my cheek.
I’m embarrassed for being so emotional. But I know he won’t tease me for it.
“Please don’t say that,” he groans, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.
“Fine,” I reply with a sad laugh. “It’s terrible.”
“Much better,” he replies with a despondent smile.
“It’s really, really awful,” I add, smirking at him through my tears.
“Well, you’ve got a pretty face. Makes my job easy.”
I soak up his compliment because I like the way it tastes. Hearing him call me pretty. Drawing me to look so handsome. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.
Clutching the drawing to my chest, I wipe the moisture from my face. “Goodbye, Declan.”
“Bye, Shakespeare,” he replies softly.
His eyes don’t lift from the empty page in his sketchbook as I back out of the room. He never glances up at me once as I go, which should make me sad, but to be honest, it gives me reassurance.
Declan doesn’t want to say goodbye because I mean something to him, and I’ve never wanted to mean anything to anyone as much as I want to with him.