“Can we get out of here?” I ask, feeling smaller than small.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Let’s go home.”
He leads me out of the club, away from my shame and into the car we rented while we’re in town. The ride back is silent, and the broken part of me thinks Will can read my mind, that he knows what happened and he’s as embarrassed for me as I am.
How long has he been here? Did he see me make a fool of myself?
When we get back to the house, I don’t even look at the bed I normally share with Will, wishing more than ever that we’d gotten a bigger place with two bedrooms. It’s not like we can’t afford it. But this was cozy and close to everywhere we needed to be.
I strip out of my shoes and jeans and leave them on the floor, slipping on a pair of pajama pants and then grabbing a pillow. I get a blanket from the hall closet on my way back to the living room and drop onto the couch, curling in on myself.
Will has been watching silently this whole time. “What are you doing?” he asks softly.
“I just want to sleep.”
“Let’s go to bed, Ari.”
“That’s not a good idea and you know why. I’ve had enough rejection tonight, thank you very much.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No. I want you to go away and let me sleep.”
“At least go sleep in the bed and I’ll?—”
“You’re six foot two, Will. You’re too big for the couch. I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Will. Please.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
Why does getting what I want without a big fight hurt so much right now? Maybe I don’t know what I want. Mostly I just knowthat I can’t have what I want, and I really just want to have a big tantrum about it. To yell and kick and pound my fists on the ground and let it all out until I have nothing left in me.
Instead, I turn my face toward the back of the couch and close my eyes, pretending I’m asleep until I hear Will’s footsteps fade down the hall. He doesn’t close the bedroom door, but the lights click off, and I’m alone. My chest aches with something ugly and all-too familiar—want and resentment and the unbearable weight of thinking someone wanted me when they didn’t.
I bet I could get up and crawl into bed with Will right now. I bet I could strip down naked and lay myself over him, pretend for a minute that he wanted me.
He’d let me.
But I’ll never let myself be that desperate again.
SEVEN
WILL
I leave the bedroom door open when I finally leave Ari in the living room. He knows where he belongs, and that he doesn’t need an invitation—he never has before, and he doesn’t now. I’m here for him if he needs me. No conditions, no questions.
I spend a long time in the bathroom, hoping that he’ll have reconsidered by the time I’m done. I shower and stand at the sink to brush my teeth.
My eyes fall on a small plastic bottle lying on its side, next to a pair of tweezers and a few torn pieces of cotton. The red and yellow plastic label is torn from being opened.
I stare at it for a long moment before picking it up like it might bite me. Curious, I unscrew the cap and sniff cautiously, barely bringing it near my face. The smell hits me immediately—sharp and chemical and a little sweet, like fruit scented permanent markers. My eyes water. I pull back and screw the cap back on quickly.
The smell alone has the beginnings of a slight headache blooming behind my eyes. I can’t imagine willingly putting that up my nose. Why is this even a thing?
I looked it up after I forced the bartender to tell me what it was. However normal or common he seemed to think it was, the idea of Ari using it made my chest tight. Not just because we’re all sensitive to substances right now, but because ofwhy. Because of where he was and what he wanted to use it for. With that guy.
