Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dean
I feel like actual shit.
Where the hell do I get off, talking to my friends that way?
My problems are not their problems, and Eli was right: they didn’t deserve my shitty attitude.
I just…lost control. My last appointment with Liaden has really been chewing on my insides.
The differences between us were so stark, bringing it home to me just how impossible things were, how little the butterflies in my gut for her mattered.
And then I did what I always do when I’m depressed: I ruminated, as several of my therapists would put it, until I couldn’t think of anything else.
To say nothing of almost reaching for the whisky bottle and sinking it.
I drank a lot after Prom Night. Too much.
And I took valium more than I should have, too.
My mom got me clean, and then she made me promise to stop drinking hard stuff.
And taking anything that wasn't prescribed by a doctor for a specific reason.
So now I stick to the occasional beer. I really feel like she saved my life, and I have mixed feelings about that .
But back to the main point. I ruined this evening, and I need to make amends.
I’ve only been in my apartment for fifteen minutes, but I find myself grabbing my keys and heading back downstairs to Em and Eli to apologize.
I don’t think I can wait another minute; I’d climb the walls if I had to sit with this all night.
It’s bad enough that I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to make things right with Leo and Sadie; with Eli, it’s intolerable.
Eli takes much longer to answer the door than he normally does, and I’m almost convinced they’ve turned in for the night and start to turn away.
The door opens, and he’s tugging the front of his shirt down like he just put it on in a hurry.
“Hey, man, where y’at?” He’s breathless. Must have hurried to the door.
Yeah, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. That wasn’t cool.
“Aww, hey, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Once again, he forgives me straight away without hesitating. He opens the door a little wider to invite me in, and I take a step forward, until I see Em in the lounge, smiling at me as she ties her bath robe. Her hair is mussed, and it’s sexy.
And now that Eli’s turned his head to make sure she’s ready and OK for me to come in, I can see he has faint traces of lipstick on his neck.
Hastily, I step back again. Nah, it’s OK, I just wanted to tell you both that I’m sorry, and… I’ll let you get on with your night. I give Emily a wink, and then start to head back upstairs.
“Hey,” Eli says, walking to the staircase. “Seriously, y’alright?”
This really can’t go on. Eli has his own life, and I can’t keep being the tagalong third wheel, the needy spider monkey clinging on around his neck.
My stomach drops, both with sadness and with the beginnings of panic - I don’t know how to cope all by myself - but it’s long past time I stopped relying on him every time I have a problem.
Yeah, as long as we’re good, I’m good , I reply.
“Of course we are.” He looks at me closely, and seems satisfied enough to nod. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Sure . But I won’t. Not even if it gets really bad tonight. I’m going to cut the strings. I’m going to get out of his way and set him free, no matter what that means for me.
I start climbing the stairs again and hear his door close as I open mine.
I can’t expect Leo or Sadie to pick up the slack, now that I’ve made the decision not to rely on Eli anymore so he can enjoy married life. I can’t lean on anyone . I’ve done it for too long.
Unless I moved back home…
I know Mom and Dad would have me back living with them faster than you can say jacknife.
I know it was hard for Mom in particular when I emigrated.
Having nearly lost me forever, she fought so hard to get me back on my feet.
It wasn’t easy for her to let me go. But there was one core truth that none of us could deny: just because I’d survived one shooting, didn’t mean it couldn’t happen again.
Lightning can and does strike twice, and as long as the gun control in my country was insufficient to protect its people enough to allow them to go to school or the cinema or the fucking supermarket without any danger of being shot, I would never feel safe or sane while I lived there.
And Mom got it. She didn’t want me to go, but she knew why I did, and supported it one hundred percent.
My blood chills as I think of going back to Louisiana for good.
Not being able to relax anywhere because anyone I passed could have a gun on them.
Any one of them could be having a bad day, or have a sick, twisted manifesto waiting on their desk for the investigators to find after they slaughtered a bunch of strangers.
My fear was bordering on a phobia, so much so that I hadn’t been home in years.
And besides, my job was here. My family. I couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t see my cousins every day, my friends. My circle was small, but it was everything to me.
And never seeing Liaden again suddenly felt impossible.
She’d move on quickly if I left, but I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget her smile, her chatter, how long and thick her hair is… I’d always wonder where she was, what she was doing, and if she was happy.
We will never be more than friends. In fact, that’s the most I can hope for. I know that. But by god, what an amazing friend to have. Having her in my life, listening to her tangents and mile-a-minute conversations, and that laugh , will be worth any sharp longing I’ll feel.
And if - when - she finds someone to call her own…
I crack my knuckles. I’ll cope. I’ll keep my heartache to myself and be happy for her. That’s the price I’ll have to pay if I want her in my life.
And it’s daunting to realize how very much I do.
Liaden
This isn’t a migraine.
It is, however, a nasty tension headache, and it’s putting me off my stride.
I’ve spent over an hour searching online for resources on dating a nonverbal person, but all I’ve managed to find are some articles on how to deal with a partner giving you the silent treatment, and what to do when you run out of things to talk about.
And before that, I was marking essays until I almost went cross-eyed, and, now I think about it, I skipped dinner and can’t remember the last time I refilled my water bottle.
So it’s hardly surprising that my head feels like it’s in a vice that’s cracking my skull into splinters.
This is the sort of headache that can only be fully gotten rid of by sleeping it off, so I log off for the night, drink a full glass of water and refill my bottle, wash my face, and clean my teeth.
There’s a small, half-full pot of red tiger balm in my cabinet, so I grab it and massage a little into my temples and above my eyebrows.
I don’t even try to read my novel when I get into bed. I just turn the lights out and close my eyes, letting the burn of the tiger balm do its job.
I’m not going to drop off immediately, though, and my mind drifts back to Dean, and what it would be like to be his woman.
I’m Googling about dating him. This is a far cry from a simple ‘DTF’ situation, as modern parlance and most of my students would have it.
When precisely did that happen? I’m not sure.
But I am sure that this is something I’m interested in, even though this isn’t going to be easy.
Maybe because it won’t be. I’ve never been drawn to anything easy or simple.
I always crave to be brought out of my comfort zone.
The men I’ve been involved with so far haven’t challenged me enough, intellectually or otherwise.
Which makes me sound obnoxious and self-regarding, but it’s the unfortunate truth.
I’ve had meetings of minds, and I’ve had good sex.
But I’ve otherwise been untouched in any real way.
Nobody has sparked anything compelling inside me, or pulled on the core of who I am the way Dean has.
He’s under my skin, and I would miss him if he wasn’t there anymore.
And I want him to feel the same way. I want him to be lying in his bed right now, thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him. I want to crack his code enough to remove the sadness in his eyes. I want to make his life better.
I want to understand what it is about him specifically, and no-one else, that’s changed my outlook and my desires so profoundly. Because it’s magic and confusing and fascinating and wonderful.