Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Playing: “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex
“Pick one. Green or Pink?” Cindy asks, holding up two very different dresses. One is velvet, and the other is frilly with a lot of tulle, but my finger immediately points to the green one.
“That one,” I answer.
Cindy laughs and puts both of the dresses on her bed. “Of course you’d go with green,” she teases me. “It’s lucky that this one is for you anyway. I’ll wear the pink.”
“Oh?” I say. “Where are we going?”
“To the dance, of course!” she exclaims. Her voice cracks a little, and it sends us into a fit of giggles, but then I process what she said and my stomach feels queasy.
“I don’t know… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“And why not?” she asks.
“Because Vicky and the others will be there! I really don’t feel like being pointed at and laughed at today.”
“You can’t let them walk all over you forever,” she tuts at me, but her tone is kind. “This is our first dance. You can’t let those bullies keep you from having good experiences. I guarantee they won’t bother you.”
I purse my lips. “But how do you know that? They’re always staring at me anytime I walk into the room. There’s no way they won’t say something.”
Cindy gives me a sneaky smile. “Because if they do, they’ll have to go through me. And I unfortunately have a habit of spilling my punch.”
I gasp and laugh. “Cindy!”
She shrugs, her smile both devious and warming. “I heard they’re making blackberry punch, too. I bet Vicky’s dress won’t survive it.”
“That’s diabolical!” I say with a huge smile, the pronunciation all twisted.
Cindy gives an evil laugh, joking as she moves her hands together like an evil mastermind.
As we get dressed, I keep admiring her courage, her freedom to live carelessly, and happiness bleeds into the warped reality, dousing me in color.
It’s a good time. The best time. And when she holds out on her promise and douses Vicky’s light blue dress in liquid the color of licorice, I think…
I have the best friend in the entire world.
The descent back into the present is slow. I feel a hand upon my shoulder, shaking me gently. The grogginess keeps me in its grasp as I blink my eyes, the blurry vision becoming clear as I hear the person in front of me.
“Hey, pretty girl.” Kit is smiling widely at me as his curly dark hair comes into focus.
His expression is soft, and I sit up confused, wondering how he got into my room, but then I see the off-white furniture around me and feel the familiar comfort of a green blanket on top of me.
The TV is still playing Bob’s Burgers, and my crochet hook nearly falls off my lap as I sit up further, finally shaking off the sleepiness.
I move to grab it, along with the project I was working on before succumbing to rest.
“Fuck, I must have fallen asleep,” I said, like some kind of excuse. My condition makes me more fatigued than others, but I’m also a Taurus, so I can normally get away with it.
“It’s okay, Opal. You can sleep anywhere and anytime you want,” he tells me with that same kind expression on his face. He looks down at the thing in my hand and grins. “What’s that?”
A slight blush rises on my cheeks at the half-finished beanie in my hands.
I’ve been making the guys presents to thank them for letting me stay here.
I thought I’d have time to put it away before Kit got home, but my abrupt nap derailed that plan.
“It’s not done yet,” I nearly squawk at him, trying to put it behind my back. “It’s a surprise.”
Kit puts his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Understood. I will be patient and wait to see it when it’s done.”
I give him a weak smile, the fatigue still heavy in my bones. My dream starts to come back to me, the memory playing behind my eyes like personified guilt. My mind flips through it over and over like the antagonizing meddler that it is.
Why did it have to send me this particular memory? I am enjoying my time being in my own space and away from my friend. Why does it have to remind me of the good things she has done for me in the past?
“Are you okay, Pebble?” Kit asks, pulling me from my saddened stupor.
My head moves back and forth. “I had a dream about my friend. My best friend… but we don’t feel like friends anymore, and I still don’t know what to do about that.”
“Are you talking about the girl who might have sent you on that date?” he asks, remembering the story I told him.
I open my mouth to deny it, to say she didn’t, but I honestly don’t believe that anymore.
The more we interact nowadays, the further away I feel from her.
It’s not just that awful date sitting on top of us like a cloud that might start pouring rain any moment, it’s also our difference in opinions.
Our paths are going in different directions, and my inner teenager doesn’t know how to accept that after having her as a savior for so long.
I see the friendship between Stacia and Rory, the sisterhood that they’ve managed to build while in broken places. Their fierceness, their commitment to each other. It makes me happy for them, grateful that they haven’t turned their backs on each other after all these years.
I don’t think the same is true for Cindy and me. I think somewhere along the way, we turned our backs on each other. I just can’t figure out exactly when that happened.
Finally, I nod in confirmation toward Kit and give a sad shrug.
“I don’t know. Friends move on from each other sometimes, don’t they?
I think I’m just having a hard time letting it take its course.
Or I’m having a hard time understanding where everything went wrong.
I used to love going to her house growing up.
It was always so quiet and serene compared to my big, noisy family.
But that time I spent in her apartment was, for lack of a better term, torture. ”
Kit takes my hand and caresses my fingers. It soothes me as he uses the technique to keep me grounded. “You’re an omega. From what you told me, the conditions you were living in were not healthy for you. You don’t have to feel bad for catering to yourself and what you need.”
“I know,” I say. “It still doesn’t make it any better, though. Maybe that’s when things ultimately went off the rails. When I designated as an omega and she stayed a beta. I technically went through a different puberty than her. Maybe we just couldn’t understand each other after that.”
“Maybe,” Kit agrees, still rubbing my hand.
“It could be that, or it could be for another reason. All I know is, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over something that you can’t control.
You can’t help the way you feel. And you shouldn’t judge the way you feel either.
Living with her was terrible, and feeling that way is valid.
Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking you’re the problem. ”
“But—”
Kit puts a finger to my lips, pushing playfully against them.
“Shh, no.” He pulls his finger back. “You’re an extraordinary person.
And an even better friend. You want to find a reason for this friendship falling apart, but I have to tell you a secret.
You won’t find that reason, not in yourself. I know that for a fact.”
“You’re just saying that,” I say, but his words cause a tiny smile to sneak up on me.
“I will sit here and list a million caring things that you do if it helps you realize how amazing you are, Opal.”
The sentiment grazes the organ in my chest, enough to have it stutter out of place, but before I can fathom a response, he stands up abruptly and puts out his hand.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks me.
My eyes narrow at him playfully. “And go where?”
“Anywhere,” he says. “Somewhere cool, if you’re up for it.”
His mischievous smile hits me in all the best places. So, I take his hand, let him pull me from my spot on the couch, and return his naughtiness. “Bring it on.”
“That was fucking incredible,” I tell him as we enter the house. My adrenaline is still pumping, and the neon lights are still vivid behind my eyelids. I poke Kit in the chest. “You were incredible. What a prodigy!”
“I really doubt being good at laser tag could be considered prodigy-worthy,” he jokes as we head into the kitchen.
He makes a little noise with his mouth and pulls out the cat food we stopped at the store for.
Before he even has the can open, Jemma is squeezing between our legs, meowing up a storm for her dinner.
“Yeah, yeah. You only ever respond to that noise for food,” he laughs and spoons some of the atrocious-smelling tuna into her bowl. Then he grins at her in admiration and pets her fur as she gobbles down the mixture.
“When did you get her?” I ask.
Kit grins. “A few years ago. I found her in high school, underneath one of the dumpsters by the cafeteria, and I knew she was meant to be with me. She just stared at me like, ‘yes, dude, I’ve been waiting for you to get out of this place so we can go home.’”
“The cat distribution system strikes again,” I tease.
“Exactly. And then I had to leave her with my parents while I was in school, but they live close by, so I went home all the time to spend time with her. When we moved in together as a pack, I was excited to finally have her back with me full time.”
“That must have been an adjustment,” I say as we leave Jemma to her food and head down the hall.
“It was fine. My parents were always working long hours anyway. She gets more attention here, especially since you’ve moved in.”
“Thatcher says he can’t get Jemma to love him,” I laugh.
“Jemma loves him. He isn’t paying attention to the small things. Like when she rubs her leg up against him when she walks past him. He just sees her and thinks she’s ignoring him.”
That makes a bout of amusement shoot through me. “That actually makes sense.”