Chapter 17 #2
“Okay, but I’m not a random faceless post made up for imaginary internet points, Dani,” I say. “I’m your friend.”
“All the more reason for me to be straight up with you, dude. It’s a stupid fucking idea and you’re gonna get burned. I’ve been saying this since February and look what happened.”
Which makes me see red instantly. “Don’t you have your own limp dick boyfriend to worry about?” I snap.
It’s wrong, bad, stupid the moment I say it—a dick fucking move—but now it’s out there and I can’t take it back.
And I don’t want to. I’m fed up with having everything I do fucking scrutinized like I’m the only person who’s made mistakes at this table and now I’ve gotta pay for them forever. It’s not fair. It’s not.
Danika’s jaw drops. She stares at me in uncomprehending anger, momentarily dumbfounded, before she finally pulls herself together and shoves back from the table to stand. “You asshole!” she yelps. “I fucking told you that in confidence!”
Jamil’s stopped eating. He sets down his chopsticks and looks between us. “Um—”
“You wanna talk about shitty relationship posts on the internet?” I fire back. “How about, ‘dear Redditors, my boyfriend’s subbed to five different girls and one guy on OnlyFans, how do we make this work?’”
“You know what?” She seizes her bag off the sofa. “Fuck this and fuck you. Have fun playing second fiddle to your boyfriend’s wife for the rest of your life.”
“At least my boyfriend has sex with me!” I yell after her as she slams my front door.
There’s a brief moment of stillness, and then she pokes her head through the door again. “Jamil, come on. You’re my ride.”
“Give me a minute. Sheesh.” He’s splitting up the food that’s still in the styrofoam takeout containers, doling out whatever’s still owed to me onto my plate.
“Really?” I say. “You’re just gonna leave?”
“She wants to go home. What am I supposed to do?”
Okay, this is stupid. I get up and go after her like I’m supposed to, even though I’m still wicked fucking pissed.
I need to make nice like we’re two idiot toddlers having a spat in the sandbox.
She’s standing near the edge of the curb where Jamil’s car is parked and when she hears me she glances up, scowling.
“Dani,” I begin.
“Can’t you see I’ve disengaged? I removed myself from the situation. Why are you chasing me?”
“Because I’m sorry? I shouldn’t have said all that. It was mean.” No meaner than what she said to me, I think, but whatever, fine, I can be the bigger person if no one else will. Look at me fucking go.
“Well, I’m not taking back anything I said. I stand by it. What you’re doing is dumb and anyone else would say the same.”
I stop and fold my arms. Twilight’s fallen, and I can’t quite make out Danika’s expression in the darkness between streetlights. A sedan driving by flicks on its headlights. Behind me I hear Jamil coming out, the crinkle of the takeout bags in his hands and the jingling of his car keys.
“Why are you even friends with me?” I ask her. It’s a more vulnerable question than I wanted to ask, but it sorta just escapes my tongue.
“What?” She’s taken aback. “Why are you asking this now?”
“It seems like you don’t like me very much at all. Like it’s just this big hardship for you, being around me. Dealing with me.”
She stands there with her phone clutched in her hands while Jamil unlocks his car and tosses the food in the backseat. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. You act like it.”
“Noel—” She sighs, long-suffering, steepling her fingers with her phone trapped between her palms and I wonder if it’s just gonna fall to the pavement and crack.
“Don’t make this about liking you or not liking you.
You’re doing something objectively foolish and you’ve got a history of reacting badly to the consequences of your own actions. Don’t read into it too much.”
Jamil slams the car door. “We like you, Noel,” he puts in helpfully. “Of course we do. You can be a lot sometimes, but that’s fine. You were there for me when I was crashing out over Brady. Right?”
“So because I’m a lot sometimes, you can’t respect my autonomy?” I say. “You can’t trust me to make any of my own decisions? You can’t just let me try things because what if I freak out?”
They exchange a glance. “I’m not saying that,” Jamil says. “I think you should do you.”
“You’ve done this same song and dance before,” Danika says. “I spend literal hours on the phone with you the night he left you the first time while you cried your fucking heart out. How can you be doing this all over again? Why on earth do you think it’s going to be different?”
“It doesn’t matter why I think it will, actually,” I say. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, or don’t believe. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s the worst idea in the whole world. The only thing I’m asking is for you to just accept that it’s happening, not police me for it.”
There, I’ve done it, asserted myself in this small and meaningful way. They’re both just kind of looking at me, waiting for me to blow up or melt down or some combination thereof, but I just stand there.
“And when it goes bad?” Danika says.
Jamil opens the car door. “Dani, just leave it. Let’s go.”
“No.” She sidles up, closing the small distance between us.
“What then, Noel? When you’re calling me at three AM telling me how badly you wanna die, and I’ve gotta babysit you even though I’ve got class in five hours?
Or when you make every conversation about whatever you’re personally going through, and fuck the rest of us?
Making us all captive audiences to your pain? ”
I haven’t done that last part since Jordan and I broke up I bite the inside of my lower lip. “I’m in therapy. I’m on meds. What fucking more do you want from me?”
“For you to use your brain.”
She turns abruptly and disappears into the car. Jamil gives me a sheepish glance and waves, mumbling for me to have a good night, and then they’re both gone.
And this is why I don’t tell them anything unless I have to.
And why I can’t ever tell them about Jordan.
So now I’m definitely not in the fucking mood anymore by the time I get showered and in bed, my phone on my chest as I wait for Luca to call me, and I hate it because all I want is to just forget about everything and lose myself in him—even if it’s over video and not in person.
Make do with what you’ve got, whatever, I’m not too proud to not jerk off while he watches, but I can be too sad.
“Hi, stunt girl,” he says when he calls at last. “You look glum. And overdressed. I got a very different impression from your messages of how you wanted this call to go.”
Luca looks hot as fuck, of course. He’s shirtless with all his magnificent tattoos on display, muscular arms I want wrapped around me and those round pecs I just want to bury my face in.
I can’t see any lower than that, but I’m sure there’s little to nothing worn on his bottom half—okay, maybe I’m not too sad to be at least a little aroused by lust. But not enough.
“Bad day,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.
“Talk to me.”
“It’s a downer.” I blow out an agitated breath. “You should just come over, you know. Like, fuck me for real.”
“I’d come over every night if I could. I’d never leave, actually.”
“You should,” I mutter. “I don’t know what’s stopping you.”
“You do, actually.”
“Demi won’t miss you.”
“As a person, no. Probably not.” He’s wry, his smile crooked and adorable and making me miss him even more if that’s possible.
My chest hurts with just how much I miss him, to the point where I can feel the threat of oncoming tears, and I have to swallow them back.
“But we’re coming up on the final stretch and she hasn’t had the smoothest pregnancy. She needs help sometimes.”
“I know, I know.” But I’m still gonna sulk about it and I do, my lower lip jutting out as I pick sullenly at a loose thread on my comforter.
Luca laughs. “Come on, Noel. I know you’re not just pouting about me.”
“I might be.”
“Did something happen?”
I hedge, debating on whether to tell him or not because I don’t really relish it.
It’s painful, actually, that my friends can’t just accept this.
Or him. Because I love him so goddamn much and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, surprise baby or not, and I’m dialed all the way in.
I’m committed to making this work, even if it hurts.
And I don’t want to hurt him with this stupid petty bullshit.
At length I say, “My friends came over for dinner tonight.”
“You mentioned that before.”
“Yeah, well.” I’ve unwound enough thread from my blanket that I can wrap it around my finger, tight, where it cuts off my circulation. “I told them that we were a thing again.”
“Oh.” He says it quietly, but that single word is laced with understanding. “Did they not take it well?”
“Danika didn’t. Jamil doesn’t give a shit one way or the other, I think.
He’s just wants to keep the peace. But he winds up siding with her more often than not, so…
” I jerk my hand and the thread tears away from the blanket at last. I let it unravel from my finger and onto the floor.
“Me and Dani butt heads a lot, but it’s usually a one and done kind of deal.
We both get over it in a few minutes. ‘Cause I concede, usually. Or pretend to.”
“And this time?” he prompts.
“This time I stood my ground, and she didn’t like it very much.
And I mean—” I sit up, gripping my phone in both hands as I stare earnestly into the screen.
“Like, I don’t think I’m wrong for that.
Am I? All I want is for my choices to be respected, if not supported.
I’m not asking her to personally bless every single thing I do and every relationship I get into. I just want her to let it go.”
“No, you’re not wrong. Of course you’re not. I’m glad you stood up for yourself.” Luca’s hesitating; I can tell by the way his lips part, his hand sliding over his bare chest. “She probably just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know it’s because she doesn’t want me to get hurt and then freak out like I always do, but it’s not her choice to make.
And I’m doing better lately. Why does everything I did before have to be held against me?
” I heave a sigh and drop my phone into my lap, rubbing my face.
“I don’t know. It’s just not fucking fair.
None of this is. I can’t catch a break, ever. ”
“It isn’t fair,” he agrees. “You’ve made such impressively huge strides in the last few months and it’s sad she can’t see that.”
“Do you really think so?” It’s a pathetic question, but I wonder if it’s true. I wonder if I am worthy of the benefit of the doubt anymore, or if it’s all just an exercise in futility. “Are you just trying to make me feel better?”
“I genuinely know so. You’re doing great. Don’t let her get you down.” His voice dips low, a smile playing on his lips. “If I wanted to make you feel better, I’d be saying something entirely different.”
“Hmm.” Maybe I am in the mood to play after a compliment like that. Luca thinks I’m getting better—so who the fuck cares what anyone else believes? “Like?” I ask, my voice sultry, playful.
“Like…” He trails off, and his expression changes entirely. “Oh, right. You’ve got your play date with Demi on Friday.”
Never fucking mind. “I do? For what, the record stuff?”
“Yeah. We talked about it when I got home from Baltimore, but it sort of forgot…”
“You forgot?”
“Kind of. I don’t know, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. Dad wants me to meet him and my uncle at the cemetery this weekend, too.”
“Wait, what? So you’re leaving me alone with her?”
“I don’t want to. Sorry.”
I sigh. “Hope she’s in a better mood this time.” And then because I realize how self-centered that all sounds, I add, “Are you okay? About all that. Meeting your family after they’ve belittled you for weeks on end.”
“Oh, dreading it,” he says with false cheer.
“I wish I could go with you.”
“No, you really don’t.”
“I’m not afraid of your family,” I declare. “I don’t give a fuck what they think of me. They can displace all their aggression on me for all I care. Might be good for them. No, really, I’d go if you wanted me to. I want to support you, Luca.”
He gives me a smile. It’s faint but sincere and it makes me feel good, knowing I can be this thing for him, too, even if I’ve got fuck else to offer. Someone he can just be himself without question or apology, someone who makes him the better version of himself. Someone who makes him feel safe.
I think maybe he hasn’t ever felt that way his whole life, or at least not since his mom died. Safe. And it hurts my heart to think about it, how he was left with a father like his, always trying to measure up and never quite making it. Being told he was never good enough when he was. He is.
I am so proud of him, how far he’s come since we’ve met, even since the night he shattered my heart into five million pieces. He’s been putting all back together since then. Slowly but surely, trying to make it right.
“You know,” he says softly, “I really, really wish you were here. There’s nothing I want more than to just have you in my arms.”
“Same.” I feel like crying suddenly. His absence is a cut I just can’t seem to bear on top of everything else right now.
Luca can tell, somehow, even over the phone. Or maybe it’s because my face is all screwed and scrunched up in that ugly way it does when I start getting weepy. “Don’t,” he cajoles. “It’s okay. We’ll see each other soon. Just a few more sleeps away.”
Not for long enough. It’s never, ever enough.
“Can we try something?” I ask him. “It’s kinda lame, so don’t make fun of me.”
His mouth twitches. “Me, make fun of you? Never.”
“Promise me you won’t.”
“I won’t, stunt girl.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath because I know what I’m about to ask for is cringe, but I’m gonna make it anyway.
Fuck it. “Do you think we can go to sleep like this? Like, me and you on video call still? I just miss sleeping with you. A lot. I miss feeling you close and hearing you breathe and…” I know I must sound out of my mind so I just leave that there, hanging, waiting for Luca to laugh at me or try not to laugh at me because he is, at his core, a good guy.
He doesn’t, though. He seems almost touched by my request, his eyebrows drawing together and his face softening. “Really?”
“Yes.” I can feel my cheeks burning. I don’t dare to look at myself in the lower corner of the screen. “I mean, if you want to.”
“Of course I want to. I miss all those things, too.”
So when we do bed down for the night, it does feel like he’s with me. In some small way, but not insignificant.
And I swear I do sleep better for it.