I mean, worst case scenario, he comes out of the bathroom when I’m half-dressed and we have a really great conversation about how my deep-rooted abandonment issues mean I’ll never expect more than the bare minimum from a man and how my father’s blatant disinterest in my existence has given me a stifling fear of rejection which has shaped every romantic interaction I have, so I’m not judging him for wanting me to leave.
Or, alternatively, I can bottle that up and make a therapist really rich one day.
I put the book back where I found it and scan the floor, which is suspiciously free of clothes. Looking around the room, I finally land on his desk where I was sitting earlier and the shuffling around when he got out of bed suddenly makes sense.
He was folding my clothes.
I don’t take long to dwell on the unfamiliar, fuzzy feeling that floods my stomach at the realization before quickly pulling my clothes back on and heading toward the door. At this point, I’m ready to be in my own space again. I back out of the room slowly, holding down the handle to close the door as quietly as I can so he doesn’t think I’m storming out of here.
I’m satisfied with my efforts to leave, maybe feeling a little smug since Emilia and her ballerina friends tell me I’m about as quiet and graceful as a drunk hippo. Well, feeling smug right up until I turn around to leave and two pairs of inquisitive brown eyes are staring right at me.
“Why do you look like you’re fleeing from the scene of a crime?” Russ’s friend Henry asks at a volume I’d prefer him to lower.
“I don’t.” The girl he’s with gives me a sympathetic look that says you do, without her saying it out loud. “I gotta go, sorry.”
They both step out of the way as I rush past, hoping with everything that I’ve got that it’s not going to be difficult to get a ride and I’m not going to be forced to do the walk of shame.
“He’s a good guy, y’know,” Henry says. “A really good guy.”
“I can tell,” I mumble back. “I really do have to go.”
The party is in its final stages. The only people around to potentially witness my disappearing act are too wasted to care and by the time I reach the front door my shoes are back on my feet, but I can’t get an Uber to accept my request so I set off in the direction of home on foot.
EMILIA BENNETT
Omw
You good?
Yeah
You getting the feeling scaries?
Yeah
You wanna sleep in my bed?
Yeah
The feeling scaries is what Emilia calls the moment of clarity you get after you’ve left a situation you were wrapped up in. It’s the sinking feeling in your gut when the anxiety sets in and you consider whether you did the right thing. It’s a moment like now, when I’m alone with only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. When I weigh up whether what I just did made me feel better or worse. Whether I’d have done that if I’d stayed off my phone and minded my business. And how long that hit of validation and feeling wanted is going to keep me going before I’m looking for the next place to get it. Then finally, whether any of this really matters either way when nobody cares what I do.
The feeling scaries isn’t necessarily regret, it’s reflection and I personally prefer to be distracted rather than reflective.
EMILIA BENNETT
Why are you moving really slow
Are you in a car?
Aurora are you walking!!!
Don’t you dare get murdered
I’m so mad at you
I’m almost home
“You’re a clown,” Emilia says as I climb into bed beside her. “Stop playing chicken with your safety because you’re too impatient to wait for a ride.”
“Noted.” Maybe if I’d managed to get a ride I wouldn’t have spent the entire walk home thinking of the guy I just left.
“Your pizza is in the kitchen.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
Emilia sighs heavily. “Go to sleep. You’ll need the energy to break up your parents’ brawl.”
“Are you sure you want to go for breakfast?” I don’t get a response, just a cushion launched in my general direction. “We could just fake our own deaths.”
“Your mom would know. You really need to sleep, Ror,” she says through another yawn. “Just think, a whole summer without sharing your location in the middle of the night. Just weeks and weeks of keeping small children alive and uninjured—and self-development.”
“The dream.”
Chapter Six
AURORA