“I don’t know, Amelia. I’d have to ask Ryan,” I say before trapping my bottom lip between my teeth and biting it raw.
She’s silent for a moment. “Is he home? He can come,” she offers sweetly, which only serves to make me feel worse. Here she is, putting in an effort to invite someone she probably loathes. I haven’t asked how she feels about Ryan now, and I don’t think I will. I’m not ready to hear her say how bad she thinks he is for me.
“He’s out with some friends,” I admit.
“Then I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you hanging out with your bestest friend in the world, right?”
My mouth opens, on the verge of spewing the truth and telling her I’m not allowed to see her anymore. The words stop, but so does my excuse that follows. Ryan’s out doing lord knows what with who knows what people, and I have to stay home and do… nothing?
I look over to Bilby resting on his spot behind me, snoozing comfortably. As if sensing my stare, he opens his golden eyes—eyes that drew me to him in the first place because they look exactly like my own—and meows at me softly, as if he is telling me one word.
Go.
“I’d only be able to stay for a few hours,” I hedge. I’ll just go over and come back before Ryan gets home.
He told me not to wait up for him before he kissed me goodbye. Last time he went out with his friends, he didn’t come back home until two o’clock in the morning. It’s only seven o’clock now. Being home by ten or eleven would give me plenty of time to settle back in my pajamas and act like nothing happened.
“O-okay, well dinner will be ready in fifteen,” she replies, tripping over her words as if she’s confused. I don’t think I’ve ever given myself a curfew before.
“Okay, on my way.”
I hang up and run upstairs to change into leggings, and a long-sleeved university shirt. Nothing too flashy and revealing. It’s ninety degrees outside right now, but Ryan’s words are stuck in my head.
You dress like a whore so men will look at you.
Brushing my hair and putting on light make up takes all of two minutes before I’m out the door and driving over.
My hands shake and adrenaline surges through my veins. I’m sneaking out of the house to see my best friend. My best friend that’s never done any wrong to anyone in her entire life. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be ostracized from me like she’s a deviant slut, when the only one that acts like that is me.
I frown. No wonder Ryan gets mad at me. I’m always lying and sneaking around on him. He doesn’t trust me, and I’m still not giving him a reason to. Still, I don’t turn the car around.
While disobeying Ryan’s demands sends highly toxic doses of anxiety though my veins, I’m not going to pass up time with my best friend—and especially not chicken tacos and alcohol.
WALKING INTO AMELIA AND David’s house always brings me a sense of peace and warmth that I can’t find anywhere else, though Julie and Matt’s house comes close. Amelia’s house is smaller, homey and well-lived in.
Her art decorates the walls, due to David’s insistence. Amelia is too humble to display her art in her own home, but David isn’t. He’s always been one of her biggest supporters, right next to me of course. If I didn’t know Amelia’s art so well, it’d look like a professional photograph printed and hanging in a store.
Amelia specializes in realism painting. She spends months and months on one painting, perfecting it until it looks like you’re staring at an actual photograph of someone. Her talent is absolutely breathtaking.
Already, she’s featured in some of the top art galleries in L.A., and has her art hanging in several celebrity’s houses. In the art world, she’s a pretty big deal, but you’d never know looking at her or her house. Growing up with nothing has humbled Amelia, and she’s perfectly happy living like she’s middle class. Even if millions of dollars are sitting her bank account.
“Hi, my love!” Amelia greets loudly, rushing over to hug me. I saw her last week, but it feels like it’s been months. Usually we hang after class for a couple hours before going our separate ways. We haven’t gotten the chance to actually visit each other in far too long.
David walks over to hug me next. David is a six-foot-four, burly guy with a big beard, sky blue eyes and a gruff voice. He’s also an absolute teddy bear and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was trying to kill Amelia or something—then he’d murder the fly slowly. He’s attractive in a way that grows on you the more you look at him and get to know him. You wouldn’t notice someone like David right away, but once he catches your attention, he makes it hard to look away.
“Hi, River,” he says quietly. Tears prick my eyes when David’s arms wrap around me. He’s been my friend as long as Amelia has, and he’s always been such a good hugger. It feels warm and safe in his arms and I haven’t felt that in so long. David’s always been good to me, even when I’d act reckless. Instead of judging me like most people would do, he offered me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen.
I don’t think I could’ve picked a better person for Amelia to spend the rest of her life with.
Before I can start bawling like a baby and embarrass myself, I squeeze him hard and remove myself from his arms. If Ryan knew I hugged David, he’d be so angry with me. My heart drops into a pool of anxiety resting in my stomach and another frown threatens to weigh down my lips. I'm always defying Ryan and then wonder why he doesn’t trust me.
Stupid, River. I shouldn’t even be here.
Just as I turn away from David, Amelia’s returning with a massive margarita in her hand.
“Watermelon?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my face. I can’t let them see me upset. They’ll ask questions that I don’t know how to answer.
“You already know it,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Watermelon is my favorite, and so is my best friend. She always remembers.