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I need to clean house soon. It’s getting very messy.
We make the ride back to the apartment in silence, Finn’s hand clenching open and shut on his thigh.
When we’re inside and I’m sitting on a kitchen chair, Finn eyes me warily.
“Can I check it,” he asks softly when I lean back and sigh, my muscles tense and sore.
“I’d rather just take a shower,” I reply, stretching out my tight muscles.
“Yeah,” Finn says, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. Okay.”
He moves toward me, but I stand up, not wanting to bother him. I’ve grown too dependent on him, too attached. It’s not healthy, is it? But it’s always been like this between us. From the minute I laid eyes on him when I was thirteen years old, this tall, gangly, dark-haired boy who held my hand wasmine.
He had my heart from the moment we touched.
I’d always assumed this was how best friends felt about each other, this underlying, simmering need for one another. But I’m coming to realize that I was wrong. This is something else entirely.
But does Finn feel the same way about me?
Or maybe I’m too late?
I flinch a little at the thought and Finn lets out a loud huff. My eyes swivel to him and see his creased brow, that line growing deeper by the minute. I resist the urge to reach out and smooth it away.
Maybe I should try and put some distance between us. That way when Archer or another person comes along, I won’t be left feeling likethis.
Despondent and lost.
I close the bathroom door on him, locking it. The click resonates in the small space and I wince.
Fuck.
He looked so sad as I shut the door.
Maybe I should let him in and let him care for me.
But then again, that’s dependence, isn’t it? Codependency? Everyone talks about how unhealthy it is. But what Finn and I have doesn’t feel unhealthy.
It never has. It just feels right. All the time. Always.
I let the door remain locked and go through the process of showering and drying off and when I emerge, the towel wrapped around my waist, Finn is there, leaning up against the wall, his phone in his hand.
“Sorry, were you waiting to use the bathroom?” I ask, all fake politeness when really my words just mask the awkward silence lingering between us.
His eyes move up to mine. He opens his mouth to say something and then snaps it shut.
“No.”
“Hmm.” I walk past him, grab some clothes from my dresser, drop my towel, and sit on the edge of the bed. Finn still looms by the door, his gaze alternating between me and the phone in his hand.
Texting not-date Archer, I’m sure.
But I don’t bring it up. I don’t even tease him about it. I just let it go. Because that’s what I need to do.
I need to let it go.
Let him go.
When I’m finally dressed and heading toward the door, Finn reaches out and grabs my bicep.
