Chapter 12
Nora: #FeelLikeAWoman
I shut the bathroom door and stand there with my back resting against it for some time
Was it all my imagination? The kiss, the racing heartbeat, the way he looked at me, as if he had eyes only for me, and the way he whispered in my ear? Could it be my silly mind fabricating these things?
It must’ve been. That’s a much simpler explanation than believing it to be true.
I’ve had too much to drink, and it’s making me imagine things and feelings that don’t exist. That can’t exist. That’s it. I’m never going to drink so much. Maybe I’ll stop drinking altogether, y’know. Become a teetotaler.
I turn on the shower and instantly realize I’m way tipsier than I thought because I’m still fully clothed. I turn it off quickly and fumble to get out from under the soaked dress, but it feels like it’s glued to my skin. It feels like it is my skin.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Gabs was right. This dress is a nightmare to get out of. I remember Lily having to yank it up a bit when I put it on. I give it another try, but it’s no use. The fabric clings to me like it’s got a personal vendetta.
Should I try to rip the dress off myself? Maybe, but the fabric seems too strong for my strength. I frantically search for a pair of scissors. Cutting through it might be my only option now. Either Gabs doesn’t keep any scissors here, or my brain is too foggy from the drinks, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere. I search through the bathroom drawers, tossing aside toiletries and spare towels, but no luck. My heart races as I open the cabinet under the sink, but it’s just filled with cleaning supplies.
I struggle for a few more minutes with the dress, but with my shaky hand-eye coordination, the tight dress now wet and stubbornly unyielding, this task is officially impossible. Unless I want to spend the rest of the night trapped in my bathroom, there’s only one thing left to do—swallow my pride and call Gabs for help.
I slowly unlock the door and call out, just above a whisper. “Gabs, you there?”
The next second he’s at the door and speaking through it. “Yeah, you need anything?”
I open the door. “I need your help… to take this off.”
He stands there, staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost or something. I don’t blame him. I probably look frightful, with my wet, tangled hair plastered to my face, the dress clinging to me, and my makeup streaming down my cheeks in messy rivulets.
“Hey, can you hear me?” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face, hating to put myself in this embarrassing situation.
It’s not that this is the first time he’s seen me at my worst. He was there for me when George broke up with me, back in school, because I had too many pimples on my face. It was Gabs’ shoulder I cried on. He was the one who applied some cream on my face, something his mother had brought from France for him to deal with his pimples.
He was there for me during Claire’s pool party when Josh and his friends teased me, saying I was probably a boy because my breasts hadn’t yet developed. Gabs had come to my rescue and announced he’d seen two tiny buds on my chest and he’d beat anyone who’d dare say anything different.
But it’s different today. I feel a little conscious. I feel like a woman in front of a man, rather than a friend with another friend.
Finally, he shows some signs of life.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t take this off. I need your help.”
He gives a smile. I swear if he says any version of I told you so , I’m going to beat the hell out of him.
“Of course,” he says, holding me by the shoulder.
Just that simple touch sends my heart into a tizzy. He turns me around and, with a tender touch, gathers up my hair and moves it over my shoulder to the front, his fingers gently brushing my neck in the process. The sensation sends a trail of tingles down my back and I find myself holding my breath.
“Easy now,” he whispers, his breath warm against my wet skin as I see our reflection in the mirror ahead. He places one hand on my shoulder and tugs at the zipper with the other. It slides down smoothly, the sound almost deafening in the otherwise quiet house.
As the dress loosens, I feel an unexpected mix of vulnerability and trust. The zipper reaches the bottom, and his hand lingers for a moment, resting lightly on my back. His fingers trail up my spine, back to my shoulders.
With my back still to his front, he hooks his fingers under the straps of my dress and pushes it down my shoulders, my arms, down my waist. He stops for a bit as he rolls his finger around my navel before pushing the dress down my legs. He presses his mouth gently against the back of my neck and traces the line above the clasp of my bra.
“You sure you don’t need help with this?”
I stand there, in my underwear, under his gaze, completely turned on. I know the feeling of wetness I feel is not all water, and I hate that it’s Gabriel who’s causing this. He who is my friend. A friend , godammit.
“No. Thank you. I can manage the rest.”
He shrugs and bends his head to the side, his eyes never leaving me for an instant. “Well, just in case you need help with the rest, y’know, I’ll be right out.”
“No, thank you,” I say, as if that’s the limit of my vocabulary today.
He leaves without another word and shuts the door behind him, leaving me with my pounding heart and bursting veins.
I stand there for maybe twenty minutes, unmoving, unblinking, trying to understand what the hell just happened.
Finally, I turn on the shower and stand under the warm water, unable to understand why I’m suddenly reacting so strongly to him.
I walk out in a robe he’s placed on the vanity for me. He’s still sitting on the couch typing something on his phone. As soon as I walk past him, he stops midway and raises his head. I can feel his eyes moving from my feet slowly up to my face. He’s seen me thousands of times, but I’ve never felt so conscious under his scrutinizing gaze. Or maybe his gaze is still the same. It’s me who’s feeling his eyes burning into my skin through the robe, making every cell reverberate with desire.
“Ready for bed?” he says, standing up.
“Yeah... but... you’re not joining me, right?”
“No,” he replies a little too quickly. “Do you want me to?”
“You mean for... like for sex or whatever? Is that what you’re implying?”
“Me? No. No, of course not. Are you?” He tilts his head and stares at me with his eyebrows raised.
My eyes go wide and he laughs and opens the door to the guest room. Oh, thank heavens. It was only a joke.
I follow him inside, my brain not really sure what it wants.
He fluffs the pillows, helps me to bed as if I were a kid, and pulls the covers over me. He has already put some water on the nightstand, along with a few aspirins.
“I’ll check on you again in the morning, okay? If you need anything, just holler.”
“Um... Yeah. Thanks.”
“Wow! You’re really thanking me a lot, something you never usually do. Not even when I risked unpopularity for you back in school.”
The bed is super soft and comfortable and I’m already half asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. Some garbled words come out of my mouth before I pass out.