Page 15 of A Totally Platonic Thing
Chris rubbed his face against my shoulder and let out a long sigh, and finally he relaxed a little in my arms. He put his own arms up around my back and clung onto me. I let my cheek rest on the top of his head.
Fuck, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, even with all Chris’s drama.
“You never really show it when you’re mad at me, though,” he said. “You get irritated, but you stay all polite and calm, and it makes me crazy. Sometimes I wish you’d just, like, yell and shout and tell me what an asshole I am and get it over with.”
I gave him another squeeze, and he let out a smalloof. “Fine. Next time I’ll yell at you. Satisfied?”
He nodded against my shoulder, bobbing my head up and down where it still rested on his.
And maybe I should’ve left it there. But what I had to say had been brewing in me all through my sleepless night, and all through my day of bullshit at school, distracting me to the point where I couldn’t focus on anything I needed to do. I’d tried to get at the subject before, but he’d never listened.
Maybe this time would be different. Maybe getting hugged would make Chris a little more amenable to listening to me. He was so tactile, always wanting physical contact.
“You know you’re fucking up, right?” I said, not knowing how to say it except directly, this time. “You’re missing your classes. You go out too many nights, and sometimes you’re blacked-out drunk when you get home. Even once is too much, you get that, right?” Chris stirred in my lap and made an unhappy little noise, and I nuzzled into his hair, stroking his back.
“I’d actually rather you called me for a ride, or have Aidan call me, because when I’m trying to go to sleep and you’re not home yet, and I’m wondering if you’ll manage to pour yourself into an Uber or if some guy you went home with…” I swallowed hard, because I couldn’t quite finish that thought out loud. It made me sick, some nights, tossing and turning and forcing myself not to call him to make sure he was okay, like I was his mom. Or actually his jealous boyfriend. “I’m sorry. It’s not about me and I shouldn’t make it about me. I’m worried about you. You know you can’t keep this up.”
He whispered so quietly I almost missed it. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Really? I couldn’t even reply, stunned into silence. No arguing? No pulling back and wriggling away from me so he could wave his arms around and tell me how wrong I was?
Instead he pushed himself against my chest, making himself smaller, somehow, and curling into me.
“I’m worried about graduating,” he said in a rush, half muffled in my chest. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Going out makes me feel better. I can’t seem to find a guy to, like, actually date. You know, who’s single and willing to actually be with me,” he added, with a bitter little laugh. I winced. I really had underestimated what a fucking number Eli had done on his head. “So I keep going out to find one, but it’s always the same douchebags, and then I get frustrated, and then it’s three cocktails later, and then you—you—” He cut off in something that sounded a lot like a sob.
And then I—what? Fuck, couldn’t he at least finish that sentence, of all of them? My heart pounded, and my stomach gave a horrible little flip. What had I done, or not done, that made him feel likethis? Ineverwanted to make Chris feel like this. Make him fucking cry, for fuck’s sake. Jesus, never in a million years.
I took my best guess, because he showed no sign of telling me.
“I’m not mad anymore,” I said, petting his back, holding him close, trying to give him what he needed. “Okay, so I had a shitty night’s sleep. It happens. Let’s move on, okay? Forget about it. You start going to your damn classes and coming home tipsy instead of wasted, and just forget about it.”
After a long, long moment, he asked me, “And you’ll yell next time? Instead of letting me wonder if you’re only a little mad, or a lot mad, or—you know that thing you do, when you get so mad you’re just done with someone? Like that guy you did that group project with. You totally froze him out. And I’m so afraid that’ll happen with me, and I won’t even know until it’s too late.”
His breath hitched a little, and my chest clenched. Like I’d ever be done with Chris.
How could he even think that?
“Never,” I said, squeezing him until he made a little sound of protest. “Never. I promise I’ll yell next time, but you never need to wonder about that, okay? But there doesn’t need to be a next time. You’re not an alcoholic. I know what that looks like.”
Thank you, Dad, I definitely knew what that looked like. And Chris didn’t need alcohol to function. He didn’t drink every day, and when he wasn’t at a club surrounded by his drunk friends, with all the pressure he put on himself to be fun and cool and attractive, he could have a glass of wine with dinner and call it a night. Or have a glass of water with dinner and skip the wine completely.
“So you need to stop acting like a dumbass and get your shit together,” I said. “There’s other ways to destress, like reading something you actually like instead of all that crap with the sad endings and the realistic magic—”
“Magical realism, you philistine!”
I poked him in the side, glad to hear him sounding more like his usual self. “Or hanging with Sebastian. Or, you know, me.” I cleared my throat. “And there’s other places to meet guys besides Aeon.”
He shook a little, and it took me a second to realize he was laughing. “You mean like the pretzel cart?”
I laughed with him, relief that this hadn’t turned into a huge fucking fight making me laugh a little harder than he’d really earned. “Sure. Gay guys like pretzels too, right? You’re living proof. Eat there every day for a month and see what happens.”
Even though the thought of Chris meeting some other guy at the pretzel cart made me want to break something.I’dmet Chris at the pretzel cart. That was our spot, or something.
Chris lifted his head at last, even though it took me a second to move my own and loosen my grip enough to let him. His eyes looked a little watery, but they had their sparkle back. And he was smiling, thank God.
“Ugh, no,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I’d get so flabby. Oh! Anyway. Speaking of food, I, um.” His smile turned shy, and he looked away. “There’s an Italian sub from Romano’s in the fridge for you. I couldn’t quite get up the courage to bring it to school for you.”
Even though my heart gave a little jump, knowing he’d been thinking of me after all, and my stomach nearly twisted in on itself at the thought of food…that really hurt, and it took me a second to figure out why.
