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Sure, nothing.
“So…” I start, getting up from her bed and sitting down next to her on the floor. I like being close to her, touching her, sniffing her. Creep. “I have a thing tomorrow.”
She turns to me, a glare in place, and I suppress my chuckle because dammit, she’s cute. “A thing?” she asks. Another sip.
I move the hair away from her eyes to behind her ear. I keep my hand there for longer than needed, because like I said, I like touching her. “At the VA hospital. Apparently I’m meeting up with someone who’ll be in charge of the physical therapy for my shoulder so I guess her and I will be spending a lot of time—”
“Her?” she interrupts, her glare more glary.
Win.
“I was hoping you’d come with. Make it more bearable?”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again—not to speak—but to take another sip.
“It’s cool if you don’t want to,” I tell her, feeling my heart sink to my stomach. “I just thought… I mean, it would’ve been good to have a friend there, but like I said, it’s cool.” I start to get up but she presses down on my knee to stop me.
“I can’t,” she murmurs, her gaze lowered.
I shrug and physically remove her hand from my leg. I stand up and walk to her nightstand where I pick up my phone, keys and wallet. I don’t want to risk staying, because staying means talking, and I’m sure whatever we’ll end up saying will be something we’ll regret.
I need time. Time + perspective.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, sitting up on her knees, her eyes wide as she places the bottle on the floor next to her.
“Yeah. I think so. I have—”
“You’re mad?” she interrupts.
I drop my shoulders and face her fully. “I’m not mad, Riley. But there’s a big difference between can’t and won’t. It’s not like you have plans,” I say. “You can go, Riley. You just don’t want to.” I make it halfway to her door before I feel her hand on mine and when I spin to face her—there are tears in the eyes the color of sadness.
I drop my gaze, my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Dylan…” She says my name like some sort of plea. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. I really can’t. I haven’t left the house in over a year,” she admits. “I’m terrified of what’s out there.”
I try to breathe through the ache in my chest caused by the fear in her voice. “Why?”
“Just don’t leave yet, okay?”
I don’t leave. I can’t.
And I don’t bring it up again because I don’t want to see that same look in her eyes—the one telling me that whatever she fears is bigger than she lets on, bigger than this room we call our solitude, bigger than us.
She goes back to drinking in silence and writing in her notebook.
I go back to watching her.
She doesn’t look at me the way she did when I walked in.
I think about the horizon, the calm—and I wonder when it is we’ll be able to find it. And if we can ever find it together.
The alarm on her phone sounds, warning us that her mom will be home soon and I’ll need to go. She reaches for it and taps the screen a few times, silencing it, then she looks at me.
I look at her.
After a while, she gets up and sits on the bed next to me. “I really do wish I could go with you,” she says quietly.
“It’s okay. You have your reasons.”
After a sigh, she says, “Can your dad go with you? Or Eric?”
I turn to her. “It wouldn’t be the same as having you there.”
“I feel horrible.” She exaggerates a pout.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t say it to make you feel bad.”
“I know. I just wish I could give back what you’ve given me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know what it’s like to do things alone. Until you came along, I was drowning in it and now…”
“Now?”
She dips her head.
I throw my arm around her shoulders and bring her into me. “I appreciate it, Riley, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”
“Will you come by after? Tell me how it went?”
“If you want me to.”
“I do,” she whispers, then looks up at me, a sad smile on her beautiful face. She leans up and kisses my cheek, her lips lingering longer than necessary. When she moves back, she doesn’t move far. So when I turn to face her, she’s only an inch away. I bite down on my lip, my gaze moving from her eyes to her wet, parted, perfect fucking mouth. Then I reach up, my hand cupping her face… please, please let me kiss you. Slowly—giving her enough time to push me away—I lean down…
“Shit!” She pushes me away.
“Seriously?”
She’s on her feet now, whispering loudly, “My mom’s home!”
“So what?”
She’s pulling on my good arm to get me to stand. “You have to leave.” She looks around frantically, then points to her window. “Out there!”
I dig my heels into the carpet. “Riley, I’m twenty-three, I’m not jumping out of a fucking window.”
“Please, Dylan.”
I cross my arms. “No.”
