Chapter 14 #2
Before I get a chance to correct him, to tell him that no one but Ethan can call me that, even as a joke, Ethan beats me to it. “Don’t call him a creep again.” His voice takes on that low growly tone that I secretly love.
Preston scrunches his eyebrows. “Why? You do.”
“Yeah, because he’s my creep.” Ugh. Will the butterflies ever stop?
Holding up his hands, Preston says, “Damn, my bad. Hey, Koby.” He looks over at Ethan to make sure that nickname is okay. I almost roll my eyes. Ethan really is a weirdo.
I give Preston a wave, then face Ethan. “Was that necessary?” I ask in a low voice.
Ethan gives me one of his easy smiles and kisses me on the cheek, super close to my mouth. My breath hitches and I grasp his arms.
“Definitely,” he answers back in a voice just as low. He pulls back from me, and in a normal voice, he tells me, “Have fun in class.” He has the nerve to chuckle as he walks away.
At this point, I think I love and hate my best friend.
After another week at Ethan’s house, I have to go home to grab more clothes.
I don’t have much, but I don’t ever bring all of my clothes to his house.
I don’t want to make it seem like I’m moving in.
I usually take enough for a few days, then go home when I run out of clean clothes.
I’ll stay home for a night or two before Ethan and I decide to have another sleepover.
It’s a constant cycle that I don’t think I’ll get sick of.
Today, though, I’m just going to grab some clothes and leave again.
I really don’t want to be home. The more time I spend at Ethan’s amazing house with the amazing people that live there, the less I want to go back to my depressing house.
I’m sure Ethan will get sick of me pretty soon, but until he does, I plan to stay over as often as possible.
He pulls up to my house and I tell him I’ll be out shortly. “Need some help?” he asks.
“Nope. I got it.” He will never set foot in my house. Hell, he might fall through the shitty porch before he can even cross the threshold.
I slide my key in the door and walk in as quietly as possible. Heading to my room on light feet, I shut the door and toss down the bag of clothes I’ve had for the last week. I washed them at Ethan’s, but I’d still prefer to have a different set of clothes.
I empty the old clothes and slide in new ones without making much noise. I’m hoping to be in and out without my mother knowing.
But I don’t make a clean getaway. My mom steps out of her room as I’m leaving mine. Had I not taken so long to get my bag packed, I would have avoided seeing her. She’s probably only coming out now to use the bathroom and ended up running smack into me.
She sees the bag slung over my shoulder and her lips turn up into a sneer. She staggers over to me and tries to yank it from my hand. I take a step away from her, towards the living room and the front door, and she stumbles more. She doesn’t like that.
“Get the fuck over here, boy. Where do you think you’re going? It’s a school night. You’re not staying out.”
I don’t even try to remind her that I’ve been staying out on school nights since I was young, and I’ve still never missed a day of school because of it. Besides, she can’t make me stay. In the eyes of the law, I’m an adult. I can leave whenever I want.
Except she can. I may be an adult, but when it comes to my mother, I’m still a child.
“I have a project to do with a friend. I’m catching a ride with him to school tomorrow,” I lie in a quiet voice.
Her eyes narrow at me just as my phone vibrates in my hand. I look down at it and read the message from Ethan.
Ethan: Comin?
Before I can reply to his text, my mother slaps my phone from my hand. “Don’t disrespect me like that! I’m talking to you, you ungrateful bastard!”
My heart clenches at her attack.
I reach down to grab my phone and she swipes at me, like she wants to hit me. I stagger back from her, eyes wide.
My mother has never hit me. Not ever. I was never a badly behaved child, so she hasn’t had to. This is a first, and my eyes tear up. There really is no hope of getting my mother back. She’s gotten to the point of being a violent drunk. Usually she attacks with her words. Now she’s using her hands.
She looks downright evil in this moment. So angry, like my mere existence is pissing her off. Her eyes are wide and her nostrils are flared. She’s taking harsh, angry breaths, like she’s working herself up. I’ve never seen her like this, and I don’t want to wait around for her to actually hit me.
Hurriedly, I grab my phone and bolt out the door, not bothering to shut it. I jump off the porch, stumbling in my haste. I right myself and jog over to Ethan’s car and rush to get inside.
When I shut the door, Ethan turns to me with a smile, but it drops when he sees my face. “Koby, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, swiping at the tears that have started making tracks down my face. He looks back at the house and I follow his eyes, seeing my mother standing there, in her tattered robe, calling after me.
“Drive, please,” I beg him urgently in a low voice, then I really start to sob.
“Yeah, okay.” He puts the car in drive and U-turns out of there.
I’m not sure how long I cry. I’m not sure why I’m even crying at all.
I’ve known my mother is a terrible person.
She’s been using her words to cut me down for years.
I really never thought she’d try to hit me, though.
I’ve tried to stay out of her way, tried to stay as invisible as I can so she won’t feel like I’m a disappointment, but that was pointless.
In no time—or no time to me, since I’ve spent the whole drive sobbing—Ethan puts the car in park and I lift my head, looking around. We’re back at the pier where he let me sing last time. I look at him and sob more.
Will he ever not get me? Will he ever not know what I need, even when I don’t?
This spot made me feel better last time.
The view, the company, the music. It worked wonders in the short period of time when he brought me here.
When I think about the pier, I think of calm, of peace, of acceptance. I think of love.
Ethan gets out of the car and rounds the front. He opens my door, undoes my seat belt, and gently pulls me out. I let him, not wanting to move, but wanting to get closer to that good feeling this place reminds me of.
Taking me by the hand, he leads me to the end of the pier.
We sit down and he gathers me in his arms and hugs me to him while I get the last of the tears out.
If there’s one thing I know about Ethan, he will let me cry on him and not complain about the wet stains on his shirt.
He rubs my back and supports me with his strength.
When I’m all cried out, Ethan lifts me from his chest and wipes the tears that are still on my face. “Better?” he asks me tenderly, making my heart melt.
I open my mouth to say yes, but what comes out is, “Can you…kiss me, please?” My voice sounds weak, almost desperate.
I hate it.
Ethan’s eyes get wide and I continue to speak. “I know you’re not really my boyfriend and we’re just friends and you’re straight. I hate myself for asking, but I just…need…something. Even if it’s not real.”
“Koby,” he breathes out, rubbing a thumb over my cheek.
When he just stares at me, I move back from him and struggle to stand from the pier.
Oh god, what am I saying? Why am I putting him in this position? I know my emotions are running high and I’m a mess right now, but this isn’t fair to him.
“I’m so sorry. I…I’m sorry,” I say.
“Wait—” Ethan starts, but I’m already walking back to his car.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would I ask that of him? We’re not really dating. We’re friends . I’m supposed to care about him and his feelings, not put him in an impossible situation. For fuck’s sake, he’s not even into guys.
Why would I do that? Because I feel like shit? That’s no excuse. God, I’m a terrible friend. I guess I am a whore, just like my mother claims. Only wanting one thing from Ethan.
When he unlocks his car door, I slide into my seat and face the window. I really hope that didn’t make him want to take me home. I can’t go home. I can’t emotionally handle being there. Maybe I can go to Crystal’s house if he takes me home. Her dad wouldn’t mind. He lets me crash there often.
Thankfully, when he pulls away from the pier, he drives to his house. I let out a small breath, glad I didn’t fuck up bad enough that he would make me go home.
After we pull up to his place, he puts the car in park and just sits there.
“Jakoby, I—” I wince and he stops talking.
He never calls me Jakoby. He rarely calls me Koby, though he’s done that before.
It’s normally ‘creep’. Calling me by my first name is basically him saying I’m not creep anymore. That I’m not special to him anymore.
“Don’t, please. I’m sorry, okay? Can we forget it happened? Please?” My voice is thick with tears, but I refuse to let any more fall. I don’t want him to feel bad, like I’m crying because he did something wrong. This is all on me.
I don’t want to lose him as a friend. I don’t want this to cause a rift between us, because I was too emotionally fucked up to realize what my request could do to this friendship. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable when all I want to do is make sure he’s okay.
Looking at him pleadingly, I see his face fall. He looks away briefly then back at me and says, “Yeah. Okay.” His voice sounds as wrecked as mine, but probably for a different reason.
I get out and grab my backpack and overnight bag from the backseat, while he walks to the front door to unlock it.
When the door is open, I slide in before him and immediately walk to the guest room, shutting it softly behind me. I lean back, gently banging my head against the wood panel.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I say to myself in time with banging my head.
My mother fucked me up tonight, yeah, but that’s no reason to implode one of the only meaningful friendships I’ve ever had.
I know I wouldn’t appreciate it if Crystal tried to get me to kiss her, knowing we’re just friends.
I wouldn’t hold it against her, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.
So why did I think asking Ethan was any different? Because I was crying? Yes, I was vulnerable, but my brain still works and I knew better.
I stomp over to the bed and throw myself on it, toeing my shoes off, feeling like shit that I didn’t take them off at the door like I usually do. I curl into myself and pull my knees to my chest.
I’m not sure how long I lie there. Could be an hour. Could be two.
While I lay there, thoughts swirl in my head. What time did my mother start drinking for her to be that drunk that she’d want to hit me? We’re out of school at two forty-five. We probably got to my house at around three-fifteen, if it was that late. She’d had to have been at it since this morning.
Shaking my head, not wanting to think about my mother and her drinking problem anymore, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone—five-thirty.
I’ve probably been curled up here for an hour.
How rude. This isn’t even my house and I waltz into the bedroom like I own it and shut out my friend who actually lives here.
Kicking myself for my rudeness, I roll to the edge of the bed, trying to gather the courage to knock on Ethan’s door and beg his forgiveness. After several minutes, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
I shake myself, gearing up to deliver an apology, when I hear a soft knock at the door. Sighing, I go to answer it, knowing it can only be Ethan. It’s just as well. It’s easier if he comes here to tell me to leave without me having to do the walk-of-shame to grab my duffle bag and my backpack.
I open the door wide and turn around to grab my bag before he tells me to.
A hand grabs my wrist and Ethan pulls me to his chest. My hand lands on his pec and I look up at him, trying to see what his angle is. His free hand comes up to frame my face and he looks me in the eyes with a determined expression.
Then he drops his lips to mine.