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For a second, I think we both purposely forget everything. Drew holds me to his chest and brushes the water droplets off my face with a hand towel.
Slowly, Drew guides me into the bedroom and helps me sit on the bed. He disappears and comes back with the pills and a bottle of water from the outrageously priced mini bar by the kitchenette. He uncaps the water and hands it to me. My hands tremble, but I take it. Drew unscrews the pill bottle, takes out a tiny white pill, and motions for me to open my mouth. I obey and swallow the pill down carefully. The bitter aftertaste of chemicals plagues my mouth, so I manage another small sip.
Drew props a couple of pillows up by the headboard and eases me back on them before covering me with the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“I’ll be right back.”
I close my eyes and count the seconds until Drew returns. Almost five minutes have passed by the time he returns. He comes over and sits next to me.
“I had to call Mike. He’s calling Lizette. I—” He turns his face away from me. “I don’t feel comfortable calling her.” He sighs and forces a deep breath. “I told Mike to tell her that you lost your phone. So…just go along with that, I guess.”
Pain is etched into the fine details of the face I’ve loved for years. I wonder if anyone else would be able to see it, besides myself and his mother. His mouth, which is seemingly neutral, is tugged down a bit on the right-hand side, and though he doesn’t wear the crinkled brow like when he’s upset or thinking hard about something, his eyes and brows look frozen. His nostrils flare out, but only ever so often–like he’s trying to breathe through the knife I placed in his chest.
Against my better judgment, I reach for his hand. He flinches at first but doesn’t pull back. My hand slips inside of his in the most perfect fit, like a key inside of a lock.
“Thank you,” I rasp.
Drew scoffs. “You can’t do that shit, Ash.”
I nod and lick my chapped lips, which taste like saltwater. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For…all of it.”
Drew tries to take his hand back, but I tug at it and keep him with me. I don’t know what to say or how to say it, but I want to try and figure it out. His head falls toward his collarbones and he studies the carpet. It takes me a moment in the dark to notice the tears that cascade down his face.
Using all my strength, I force myself up into a sitting position and wrap my arms around him. A treacherous sob escapes from his throat. He covers his face with a hand like he’s embarrassed to have me see him like this when I’m the one who’s caused it all.
I feel him break within my hold and somehow, I’m eighteen again, and the ugly reality that I did this to him replaces all of my guilt with irrefutable anger and hatred for who I’ve become. Drew’s shoulders quiver and the sounds that come from him as he cries will surely haunt my nightmares until my dying day. This—this—is so much worse than his anger over the last few days. I never wanted him to feel like this. It was the last thing I’d ever wanted. Yet, somehow, it came to fruition due to my own decisions. I made Drew a promise forever ago that we would come out, and I’ve broken that promise every single day since.
There’s so much to say and figure out, but exhaustion envelops me like a heavy quilt wrapping around my shoulders, and as the Xanax hits me, I have to lay back down.
My thoughts fog and my head becomes heavy. I tug on Drew. Hesitantly, he lays down next to me. We face each other, keeping a foot of distance between us, and I use the last bit of strength I can muster to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.
“Rest,” Drew sniffs.
I don’t want to rest. I want to go back to Emma’s rooftop after the Blink-182 show and do everything differently. I want to move in with Drew and his family, fall in love with him, and never hide it. Not for a second.
Despite my attempts to stay awake, I drift off into a deep sleep that has nothing to do with the Xanax and everything to do with Drew beside me.
A soft melodystirs me from my slumber. My sore eyes crack open in the dark and strain to adjust to the lack of light. There’s something heavy on my chest. I take in the scent of spice. Locks of hair tickle my chin from where he lays on my chest.
Drew.
His hand soothes my arm in continuous, lazy strokes from my shoulder to forearm. I stay still because I don’t want him to stop singing, and he hasn’t figured out that I’m awake yet.
Drew has a deep singing voice, much different than my own. It’s rich and coated in a baritone of secrets. I can’t remember the last timehesang forme.It’s been years. He’s never thought his voice was any good, but I’d beg to differ.
“I’m glad we met when we were so young, it means I get to hold you longer…”Drew sings barely above a whisper.“If only I’d had you from the start, maybe then I’d be stronger…”
My eyes sting while he sings an untitled song we wrote together for our latest album. It didn’t make the cut to be on the final version of the album because it was “too slow” and different from our usual sound. I blink back tears as he moves onto the chorus.“No one knows about us, oh, oh, oh, no one can see, can see how your fire has taken over me…”
I lay there while he finishes the song. Near the end, I feel something drop on my chest. It leaves a warm sensation in its wake, and I finally become lucid enough and understand that he’s crying. The warm tears continue to fall, and his shoulders shake slightly with each breath he takes.
It’s past time for me to be the person Drew has needed me to be–and I hate that it took him crying in my arms, exposing his pain instead of running from it, for me to wrap my head around it all.
The consequences of my actions hit me like a semi-truck.
I’ve wastedso much time.
All along, we could have had this. I could have slept with him by my side every night, woken up to him each morning, made love to him whenever, wherever–I should have been there for him entirely. Instead, I’ve left him in the shadows, only coming around when it’s been convenient for me.
