Chapter 7 – “Love Me Anyway” - Chappell Roan #2
He turns to face me, lifting a hand to the back of my neck. His fingers knot in my hair, thumb brushing against my nape, sparks rushing down my spine. The touch I fear I’ll never find elsewhere.
Zach says nothing, pulling my head toward his and dropping his mouth to mine. I let him kiss me, and I kiss him back because I know we’re both desperate for one moment that doesn’t feel like anger or tragedy. We need that fire running through our veins to be ignited by something other than pain.
But as his lips move against me, as I taste his tongue, I remember I’m not the only girl who has experienced this from him tonight.
I place a hand on his chest, pushing him back. “I can’t.”
“Elena.” His voice breaks. “C’mon. Don’t be like that right now. I thought we talked it out?”
“It tastes like you’ve been in someone else’s mouth tonight, Zach. I can’t move past that right now.”
He scoffs. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“No.” I stand from the bench. “Weaponizing my friendship with your brother doesn’t forgive the fact that you cheated on me. Again.”
I turn around to walk away, tears welling in my eyes once more, realizing how manipulative he truly is, masking his mistakes and spinning our conversation so I’d forgive him easier.
I didn’t realize until I was kissing him again how he orchestrated the entire conversation to end exactly the way he desired.
“You’re acting fucking childish, Elena!”
“Funny you say that, considering you treat me like a toy you don’t want to share.” I stop, glancing back at him. “I’m going home. I’ll talk to you later.”
I watch him stand, but I begin walking again before I can give him the chance to catch up. “If you’re going to act like that, don’t bother calling me.”
I roll my eyes, lifting my middle finger in the air as I disappear into the night. I round the side of Milo’s house and head down his massive driveway, down the hill that heads back toward town and home.
I’m halfway there, strolling through the quiet darkness, when Leo sends a message in the group chat letting us know we should be scarce tonight—our mom caught him sneaking in after dropping Darby at home.
He told her we were both sleeping at the Hayes’ house to try and save our asses, though I’m sure she’ll know we’re full of shit.
Nobody sees right through us like our mother. She’s a fucking force.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see Everett’s name flashing on the screen. I swipe to answer it, and before I can greet him, his voice roars from the other end, “Where are you?”
“I’m walking home.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
My brother grumbles under his breath, and I hear shuffling on the other end of the line before he shouts, “Hey, bitch! Why the fuck did you let my sister leave in the middle of the night by herself when she’s been drinking?
What is wrong with you?” I swear, I hear what sounds like some kind of slap before someone groans.
“Fuck you, Everett. Don’t fucking touch me.” Zach’s voice is muffled in the background.
“Elena, stay where you are. I’m going to make this piece of shit come get you. You cannot be out running around town by yourself in the middle of the goddamn night. Are you crazy?”
“You didn’t care when it was August and Leo leaving the party,” I snap back.
“Leo wasn’t alone, and he took an Uber! August left early,” he counters before adding, “and neither of them is my baby sister!”
“I’m four minutes younger than you. Calm the fuck down.”
“Four minutes younger but a foot shorter.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, Everett. I’ll let you know when I get home. I’m almost there.”
“Leo said not to go home.”
“I don’t care,” I say, even though that’s not where I’m going.
“Stay on the phone with me until you get there, okay?” Everett asks.
“I’ll go get her. This is ridiculous,” a voice that doesn’t belong to my brother echoes through the phone. “Why do you put yourself in these situations, Elena? You always have to cause such a scene, and it’s the people who fucking care about you who get caught in the crossfire like this.”
“I won’t get in the car with him, Everett. I won’t.”
“He’s already walking in the house.” My brother sighs defeatedly, like he’s as tired of mine and Zach’s bullshit as we are. “What happened? Do you want me to tell Leo to sneak back out and come get you himself?”
I love my twin more than just about anyone else on this planet, but the overprotective audacity is getting on my goddamn nerves.
“God, no! I will text you when I get home. Fuck .”
I hang up before he can argue with me, and suddenly, I’m running.
I know I’m probably still drunk. I’m overwhelmed and sad, a little scared now that I realize it’s so dark and so late.
I’m stupid for taking off on my own. I hate the way Zach treats me like a petulant child, and that my brothers think I can’t take care of myself.
They treat me like I’m some emotional, impulsive, reckless girl they can’t get rid of.
I’m running because I don’t want Zach to catch up with me. I don’t want to see him right now. I’m running because I need to get off the street. I’m running because I want the burn in my chest to be from something other than my heartache.
And I don’t run home.
I run right up to the house on Hillside Road with the jacaranda tree in its front yard, to the window on the end with the soft glow illuminating the curtains.
I softly knock, knowing he’s still awake. A moment later, the window opens, and August’s face appears. The burn in my chest recedes, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve now caught my breath or because I’m looking into the eyes of the one person who never makes me feel bad about who I am.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Tears start falling again, and it’s all I can do to shake my head.
He nods toward his room, beckoning me inside. I brace my arms on the sill and hoist myself through the window. He grabs my waist as he helps me in—his touch always soft and warm. It’s not fire, but embers.
“What happened?”
I shake my head again, looking around. The lamp on his desk is on, his chair pulled out, and his sketchbook open to a rendering of a snake halfway done.
“Is that a tattoo you’re designing for someone?” I ask, changing the subject.
August has been into drawing his entire life, but last year, after watching a documentary about it, he found an interest in designing tattoos.
He began doing stick-and-poke work on my brothers and on himself before he found some second-hand equipment online that he now hoards in his garage away from his parents.
Some people at school caught on, and he has this whole underground operation going now. The craziest thing about it is that he’s incredibly talented; you’d never be able to tell the tattoos were done by a fifteen-year-old kid.
“Yeah, for Tyler Childers,” August says.
I nod, turning to face him and attempting to smile, but for some reason, it only makes me cry harder.
August pulls me into his arms, cradling my head.
He smells like the laundry detergent his mother uses to wash their clothes mixed with his deodorant, which is different from his brother’s.
Hugging him feels different, too. It feels like I’m being understood, like he’s telling me he sees me and it’s okay for me to feel this way.
My head fits perfectly into his shoulder. When we met, I was taller than he was, but over the years of our friendship, he has grown to tower above me, and I’m thankful for that now. It makes me feel even safer.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” I murmur against his chest.
“Of course. I can sleep on the couch.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He pulls back, studying my face intently as he looks down at me. Swiping a thumb beneath my eyes to clear my tears, August says quietly, “My brother won’t like that.”
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “You’re my best friend, and you’re the only person who makes me feel safe right now.”
I don’t just mean physically. I mean my soul.
There is a bone-deep awareness when I’m with August that I can be exactly who I am and be accepted.
He doesn’t treat me like a child, like I’m na?ve or immature or fragile.
He doesn’t belittle my dreams or my interests; he shares them.
He doesn’t make me feel like I have to mask my emotions, no matter how big they may be.
It’s my soul that’s safe with him, and I think maybe that’s why I choose him.
My soul longs for Zach, but it’s not safe with him.
I don’t want to think about what that means or how badly it hurts right now. No, I just want to fall asleep blanketed in warmth and security, and that’s right here in August’s bed, with him beside me. We don’t touch, but we never touch that way.
I won’t pretend there aren’t weak moments when I think about how that might feel, because I do, even though I know it’s wrong. But right now, it’s not his touch I need—it’s his presence.
August silently nods, walking over to his dresser and pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt for me to change into. As he hands them to me, he gruffly says, “I’m going to go get you some water and some ibuprofen. You’ll be hungover tomorrow. You can change while I’m doing that.”
“August?” I ask as he quietly opens the door, pausing on the threshold. “Thank you.” For always taking care of me. For accepting me. For being my other half.
He turns around, his gemstone eyes bright with conviction behind his glasses. He smiles softly, and it somehow seems sad. “I’ll do anything for you, Elena.”
He leaves the room, and as I’m changing, I see his phone light up on his desk beside his sketchbook. And because I’m nosy as hell, curious about who would be texting August at two in the morning, I check the notification. It’s his brother’s name flashing across the screen:
Zach
I assume she’s with you?
Don’t forget what I said.
August’s door opens a moment later, and I quickly turn back around, pretending I hadn’t seen Zach’s message.
He hands me a glass of water and two pills.
I take them while he pulls back the comforter on his bed and crawls into the right side, the side he always sleeps on.
I walk to the left—my side. The side I lie on while we’re reading, the side I sneak into when I fight with his brother in the middle of the night and need a safe place to sleep.
He flips off the light, and we both lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. It feels as if the words hanging between us penetrate the darkness, but we’re both too afraid to voice them.
I’m fighting the urge to reach for his hand and feel his skin.
I think he’s fighting those urges too, and as I hear the click of a lock toward the front of the house, the echo of quiet footsteps, and a door shutting across the hall, reminding me of the third variable in this fucked-up equation, I’ve never been more uncertain.