I lay there a while, pretending I was still asleep, just in case he came back. The room was cold and quiet. I should’ve felt safer under the blanket, but it made my skin itch. I turned over and reached for my phone.
One new message.
Brian:
You should’ve just told me.
My stomach dropped. Brian deserved better than that humiliating display last night.
But what was I supposed to say? That I’d been in love with Dare since I was thirteen? That I dreamt about him every night for a year straight and still sometimes wake up breathless? That every crush I’d ever had was a cheap replica, someone I could mold into something almost close enough?
I didn’t ask him to kiss me. I didn’t ask foranything.
But deep down, in the quiet, in the dark, I wanted it. God, Iwantedit. Every day. Every hour. Foryears.
That’s what I was guilty of. Not the kiss. Thewanting.
I shoved the phone face down under the pillow like that could erase it.
Brian was supposed to be my reset. My second chance. Vargas, back in high school, hadn’t helped me to get over Dare, nor had it seemed to make him jealous and regretful like I’d hoped. But with Brian, I’d tried,reallytried.
Tried to like him.
Tried to feel attracted when he smiled at me.
Tried to muster those butterflies in my stomach when he kissed me.
I desperately wanted him to be the solution to my problem. But my traitorous heart had a one-track mind, and after Dare’s kiss last night, I was afraid that would never change.
I went the entire day without a word from Dare. He didn’t look at me when we passed in the hall. He just… brushed past me as if I wasn’t there. As if last night hadn’t happened and he hadn’t kissed me so hard that he stole the air out of my lungs. As though he hadn’t made me believe for one split second that maybe he wanted me.
I clamped down on the inside of my cheek until pain sharpened my focus. If this was how he wanted to play it, fine. I’d survived worse from him. I’d survived silence. Avoidance. Cruelty. I’d survive this, too. Even if it killed me.
Dare didn’t come back to the room all day. His shoes stayed where they were by the closet. His phone charger was gone. So was his backpack. But his scent still lingered on the pillow he slept on.
I should’ve kicked him in the nuts. Gotten mad.I had aboyfriend.I did. Sort of. I stared down at my phone, thumb hovering over the unread text.
Brian:
“Everything good? You ghosted.”
Last night, I hadn’t replied or tried to explain what had happened. I didn’t know how. It felt like lying to saynothing. But the truth tasted like betrayal before it even left my mouth.
I hadn’t asked for the kiss, but I’d wanted it, and to me, that was the same thing. Every goddamn day, I’d watched Dare tie his cleats or towel off after practice or stalk into a room like he owned the air—and I’dwanted. Quietly. Pathetically. Hopelessly.
I was guilty of that, wasn’t I? Maybe if I remembered all the hurt and pain he’d inflicted on me, I’d forget the scorching burn of his mouth on mine. The heat. The pressure. The way his hands had gripped my shirt like he was afraid I’d vanish.
Except he’d disappeared. It was seventh grade all over again.
I went home from that party hurting, confused, wondering if I’d done something wrong, if I should’ve stopped it. If he’d ever talk to me again. And now here I was, older and dumber and still waiting for him to come back. Still waiting to be chosen.
My skin still burned where he touched me. My lips still tingled. And my head kept replaying every second of it, every breath, every heartbeat between us, trying to decode the meaning.
Trying to convince myself that I didn’t imagine it. Didn’t dream it.
I finally spotted him across the quad later that afternoon,walking with a few teammates, laughing as if nothing happened. He didn’t even look my way, not once, not even a flash of recognition.
I didn’t exist.
