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I did the same shit a few weeks ago. Bailed on her and ghosted everyone who tried to reach out to me. I didn’t expect her to turn the tables on me, and I didn’t like it, not one bit. Now, I understood how she felt when I wasn’t answering her phone calls and she found me in that tub, freezing and pissed drunk.
Was she hurt?
Did something happen?
Why. The. Fuck. Won’t. She. Reply. To. My. Texts?
Goddamn it!
I slammed my fists against the steering wheel, slightly unhinged at the mere thought of Lila being hurt.
I went to their grocery store today and found out that her grandma was home. Sure, I could have spoken with Sven, her Pops, but I’d rather not. He liked me enough, but he didn’t seem to trust any boys around his little Lila, even ones who were her friends and didn’t want to get in her pants.
Okay, that was a fucking lie.
I still wanted to get in her panties.
Maybe he could read me better than I thought. Was I that obvious?
Oh, she was my friend, but I still wanted to fuck your granddaughter. Up and down, sideways, on our knees, every fucking position.
Well, yeah. No wonder he didn’t like, like me.
I rang the doorbell, and Lila’s grandma opened the door, a pensive look on her face. She looked tired and weary. At the sight of me, she smiled a little. “Maddox, what are you doing here?”
“Hi,” I said, peering behind her shoulder, expecting Lila to pop up. “Is Lila home? I tried to contact her, but she isn’t answering, so I grew worried.”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes turning glassy. “You don’t know?” She spoke the words so softly that I almost missed them.
My heart skittered a beat, and I started sweating. The blood rushed through my ears and my heart hammered in my ears. “Is… something wrong? Did something happen to her?”
She shook her head. “You don’t know what today is?” she questioned, but then answered her own question before I could say a word. “She didn’t tell you. I’m not surprised. My Lila always suffers alone.”
Suffers… alone?
Fuck, no. She would never. Not alone.
Lila had me.
True, she didn’t need a hero to save the day, but the more I got to know her, the closer we grew–I wanted, no –I needed to protect her. Maybe it was to return the favor since she took care of me when I was at my weakest or simply because I…cared. I’d ever confess that out loud to her. She’d sock me in the face because Lila Garcia hated to be pitied.
Except, I didn’t pity her.
I just wanted to… protect her.
“What are you saying? Is she hurt?”
Her grandma gave me a heartbroken smile. “She’s been hurting for a long time.”
That… hurt. Right there, in my fucking chest.
Mrs. Wilson leaned against the doorframe, looking more haggard than her age. “Did you know that Lila never cries? Never, except one day of the year. On that day, she cries alone; she hides her tears from everyone. That’s the only day she lets herself feel pain.”
My heart nearly spilled out, and I rubbed my chest, trying to alleviate the ache. It didn’t stop the pain. It infiltrated my veins and my blood, for her.
Her shoulders shook and slumped, as if she had finally been released from a heavy burden she carried. “My Lila is strong with a fragile heart,” she whispered.
“Where is she right now? Where can I find her?” Even I could hear the urgency in my voice, the desperation.
And I was not a desperate guy.
But Lila made me feel many things I’d never felt before. Not for any other girl.
“Lila left this morning. She’s at Sunset Park. You’ll find her sitting on a bench.”
I nodded my thanks and took a step back, clenching my car keys in my hand. Sunset Park, I’d find my Lila there.
“Maddox?”
I paused and glanced over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Are you Lila’s friend?”
Confused, I blinked, and my brows furrowed. Grandma was well aware we were friends; we had been for months. But she stared at me, expectantly, as if her question held more meaning behind those simple words.
And I realized they did.
That question was powerful because it made me think about how important Lila was to me, how close we were and how much she meant to me. One simple question, and it put our whole relationship in perspective.
Yes, I respected the hell out of Lila. She was smart, funny, wild and… caring.
Yes, I still wanted a taste of her. Wanted it since I first laid eyes on her.
But she meant more.
We had each other–she got me and I got her.
Suddenly, the idea of us being more than friends became taboo. Because if we were ever more than friends, we risked losing what we had now. A silent understanding. A friendship based on honesty and loyalty. Lila saw behind all my bullshit and didn’t let it deter her. She pushed and pushed until I cracked open in front of her. Lila and I were alike in so many ways, yet still… different. Maybe that was why we suited each other so well as friends. We balanced each other.
