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“You were a dick.” My words come out with an edge that can’t be denied and I wish I could swallow them back down.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me and he looks apprehensive. It’s weird hearing him say those words. I can’t think of him ever speaking them to anyone before. “You came looking for an apology?”
“No, not really,” I tell him and shrug, wanting to take a step back from the tense air, but my ass is firmly planted on this stool. He turns to his left and I look back at the glass while I continue, just wanting to get it out of me before he’s gone again.
“I just wanted to talk.” The words finally come out, although they’re not quite right. I want to spill every word that’s inside of me. From the last night I saw him all those years ago, to everything that’s happened up until this moment. There aren’t a lot of people who can relate to what we’ve gone through.
He still hasn’t said a word. His gaze is focused on me as if he’s trying to read me, but can’t make out what’s written. If only he’d ask, I’d tell him. I don’t have time for games or secrets, and our history makes up too much of who I am to disrespect it with falsehoods.
“Are you going to run off again?” I ask as he only stares back at me.
“Do you want me to?” he asks me in return.
“No,” I answer instantly and a little too loud. As if what he’d said was a threat. I’m quieter as I add, “I don’t want you to go.” The desperation in my voice is markedly apparent.
“Well what do you want then?” he asks me and I know the answer.I want him. I take in a breath slowly, knowing the truth but also knowing I’d never confess it.
“I haven’t been able to sleep since the other night,” I confess and my gaze flickers from the glass to his eyes. My nail taps on the glass again and again and the small tinkling persuades me to continue. “I had a rough time for a while, but I was doing really well until I saw you.” I don’t glance up to see how he reacts; I’m merely grateful the words are finally coming to me. “When you didn’t even bother to look at me, much less talk to me …” I swallow thickly and then throw back more of the beer.
“It was a shock to see you.” Daniel says the words as if he’s testing them on his tongue. Like they aren’t the truth, although I’m sure they are. I look into his eyes as he says, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What did you mean then?” I ask him without wasting a second.
He hesitates again, careful to say just what he wants. “I didn’t know what to say, so I left.”
“That seems reasonable.” Or at least that seems like the version of Daniel I remember. I take another sip of beer before I say, “It hurt though.”
“I already said I was sorry.” His words are short, harsh even, but they don’t faze me.
“I wasn’t looking for an apology. I only wanted you to know how you make me feel.”
He responds quickly this time, still looking over my expression as if he’s not sure what to make of it. “And how do I make you feel now?”
I swear his breathing comes in heavier, and it makes mine do the same. “Like I have someone to talk to.”
That gets a huff of a laugh from him. A disbelieving one. “I’m sure you have better options for that.”
I shake my head and answer before taking another sip, “You’d be wrong then.”
It’s never felt pathetic before. The fact is I don’t talk to many people and the one friend I have is thousands of miles away. But admitting that to him and seeing the trace of the grin fall on his lips makes it feel slightly pitiful.
I muster a small smile although it’s weak, and time grows between us. The seconds tick by and I know I’m losing him, but I can’t voice any of the things I’m feeling.
“It’s been a while,” he says and I nod my head as I answer, “Since the funeral.”
I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud and it’s the first mention of Tyler between us. The air turns tense but not in a way that’s uncomfortable. At least not for me. I even have the courage to look back at him. I can see hints of Tyler in Daniel. But Tyler was so young and he looked it. Still, there are small things.
“You remind me of him, you know?” All while I speak, Daniel stares at my lips. He doesn’t hide the fact in the least. I think he wants me to know. I swallow and his gaze moves to my throat, then he leans in just slightly before correcting himself. The hot air is tense and as he finally looks me in the eyes again, the noise of the bar disappears from the pure intensity of his stare.
“You do the same for me, I think.”
“You think?” I ask him to clarify.
“You bring back certain things,” he says icily, so cold it sends a chill down my spine.
My shoulders are tight as I straighten myself in the seat, again looking into the glass of beer that’s nearly gone as if it can save me. Or as if I can drown in it.
It’s only the sound of him standing up that makes me look back toward him. “Are you leaving?” I ask him like an idiot and then feel like it.
