“I’m not trying to be your shrink. I’m just trying to get us on the same page.”
“We were on the same page when you were straddling me. Let’s go back to that.”
“Silas.” I know even as I say it that I sound like I’m reprimanding him. Like I’m already some angry girlfriend. And it’s ridiculous because I’m actually tempted. God, as frustrated and wary as I feel, I’m so tempted.
“Okay. Here are the answers I have for you, Dylan. Yes, I like you . . . enough to bail you out of jail when I knew next to nothing about you. Maybe it’s just a hookup. Maybe we’ll see each other again. I don’t know. I don’t make promises because I’m not good at keeping them. You’re either okay with that or you’re not. And if you’re not, that’s whatever . . . fine. But I can’t guarantee you anything. And if you’re thinking of me as some project you can fix or change . . . don’t. That’s what I know.”
“Thank you. That, um . . . that helps.” And makes me feel a little sick to my stomach all at the same time. It’s all well and good to act impulsively, to live in the moment, but I don’t exactly have any experience dealing with what comes after.
“Should I go find Matt and take you two home?”
“No.” I shake my head, my lips pursed tightly together. His eyebrows arch, and he curls a hand around the back of my neck. His mouth dips down close to mine, but I sidestep him and move toward the door. “I don’t need you to take me home. But I think it’s probably not a good idea for me to go into your bedroom. I’m in a weird place mentally right now, and I’m not sure I trust my decision making at the moment.”
In fact, I don’t trust myself at all. I haven’t since I went out with Henry thinking he might be about to propose and got a breakup instead. Because . . . I think, I can’t be sure, but I think when he ended it . . . I was relieved. And only minutes before I’d been prepared with the word yes on the tip of my tongue.
And that scares the holy hell out of me because I should know myself better than that . . . right? I should know who I am and what I think and how I feel . . . but I don’t.
I don’t know myself at all.
He swallows, and he must be gritting his teeth because his jaw is tight. He looks down at his feet and bobs his head in a nod. “I get it.”
He looks up and asks, “You sure you don’t need a ride home? It’s not a big deal.” But even though he’s looking at me, he’s not looking at me. His eyes are unfocused and just off to the side, and his expression is locked up tight.
And I feel so guilty, not just for what I did, but because this isn’t fair to him. He’s the collateral damage of my own indecision.
“Thanks. That’s really nice, but we can walk. It’s not far.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I reply. I stand there stupidly for a few more seconds and then walk out the door.
I turn to say one last thing, and he’s right behind me. He’s looking at me now, and I can’t read his expression.
“Sorry.” I mean it to be an apology for all of it, but I’m scared he thinks it’s just about nearly bumping into him, so I continue, “I’m sorry for being weird about all this. And thank you. For everything, not for . . .” I gesture in the general direction of where he gave me an orgasm. “That. But thanks for that also. Oh God. I’m going to go. Sorry. Thanks.”
STOP SAYING THANK YOU.
I can feel his presence behind me as I flee, and I’m wondering whether it’s worse to stay silent or to make some horrible, awkward small talk on our way down the stairs. Then I hear the door across the hall, his bedroom, click shut.
And I’m alone.
And I still have no idea what I want.
Chapter 8
Silas
I find a joint in my room, and kill the whole thing in a few minutes.
Bad decision.
She didn’t say it, but that’s what she was thinking. She wanted to avoid bad decisions, and always, no matter what I do, no matter how far away I get from the trailer park and that shack of Granny’s, I’ve got that written all over me.
The high comes on fast and hard, and I spend the next half hour, maybe more, staring at my ceiling. I’m f**king blank, barely even there. And it’s perfect.
But when I start to level out, it all gets worse.
I’m horny as hell, and the weed only amplifies it.
Instead of clearing my head and relaxing me like normal, my thoughts turn dark, and I get stuck thinking about the past. I start thinking that there’s no point. To football or classes or friendship or anything. I know where I came from, and I know where I’m gonna end up, and the longer I lie here, baked out of my mind, the more it starts to feel like those two things aren’t as far apart or as different as I want them to be.
I start laughing, and I’m not even really sure why. Only that this all feels like some script I’m playing directly into. Like these first couple years at Rusk were just the setup, letting me believe I’d moved on, created something better for myself, only to have it all start falling apart, or rather falling back into familiar territory.
I laugh even though it’s not funny, but what the f**k ever. I stumble down the stairs, and I must have been staring at my ceiling for much longer than half an hour because the party is over.
Torres is indeed passed out na**d on the floor, and someone has balanced a throw pillow on his bare ass, and that seems so damn funny to me that I forget how to breathe through my laughing.