Bray started to shrink behind her dad and every second that passed I felt even worse about her being blamed.
Before this got too out of hand, I broke away from my mom’s arms. “Dammit, Mom—!” Her eyes grew wide and fierce, and I stopped midsentence.
“Watch your mouth, Elias!” Then she looked at Bray’s mom again and added, “See, Elias never uses language like that.”
“Stop it! Please! I snuck out on my own, so leave Bray out of it!”
I hated shouting. I hated that I had to put my mom in her place like that, but I spoke what I felt in my heart, and that was something my mom always taught me to do. Take up for the bullied, Elias. Never stand back and watch someone take advantage of someone else, Elias. Always do and say what you know in your heart to be right, no matter what, Elias.
I hoped she would remember those things when we were back at home.
My mom sighed deeply and I watched the anger deflate with her breath. “I apologize,” she said to Bray’s parents. “Really, I am sorry. I was just so scared something had happened to him.”
Bray’s mom nodded, accepting my mom’s apology with sincerity. “I understand. I’m sorry, too. I’m just glad they’re safe.”
Bray’s dad said nothing. I got the feeling he wasn’t as forgiving as her mom had been.
I was grounded for the rest of the summer for that stunt I pulled. And yes, I met the fly swatter that day, after which I vowed never to sneak out of the house again. But whenever it came to Bray, from that time up until we graduated high school, I did sneak out. A lot. But I never got caught again after that first time.
I know you must be wondering why after so many years of being best friends, attending the same school, working together at the local Dairy Queen, even often sharing a bed, why we never became something more to each other.
Well, the truth is that we did.
Four years ago…
I turned twenty-two on August 2, a week after I had moved into my first apartment. Bray, like she did every year, insisted that I not stay at home on my birthday. She wanted to drag me out to a party somewhere, get drunk, have some fun. And while I was never opposed to parties, drinking, and getting laid every now and then, the last party I went to with Bray landed me in jail and Bray in the emergency room of Athens Regional. It was a wild night, that’s for sure.
“It won’t be like last time,” Bray said from the doorway, trying to convince me.
She closed the front door with her foot and practically danced her way into my living room. She plopped down on my oversized chair and draped her legs over the arm.
I closed the fridge and sat down on the ottoman next to her, bringing my Gatorade bottle to my lips and taking a swig.
“You mean you won’t get roofied, and I won’t overhear the douchebag who did it bragging to his friends and then beat the shit out of him?” I laughed and took another drink. “That’s hardly something that can be predicted.”
She leaned forward and swung her arms around my neck. The smell of her freshly washed hair and lightly perfumed skin intoxicated me.
“I won’t drink anything unless you or Lissa give it to me,” she said and then pressed her lips to the side of my face.
I always hated it when she did that. Best friend, so what, it made me hard.
“I guess I’ll go,” I said, giving in. “But you have to promise you’ll be on your best behavior.” I shook my finger at her playfully.
In all reality, asking Bray to be on her best behavior was a far-fetched request that was almost always met with disappointment. But nothing she could ever do would push me away from her.
She raised both of her hands up in the air, as if surrendering.
“I fucking promise,” she laughed. “I’ll be good. If I don’t, you have my permission to bend me over your knee and spank the shit out of me.”
Oh Jesus Christ… seriously? That’s worse than her innocent “best friend” kiss to my cheek.
I inhaled a very deep breath, composed myself, and then got up from the ottoman, Gatorade bottle in hand.
“Where are you going?”
“To get dressed?” I looked at her like she’d just asked a stupid question.
“What you’re wearing is fine,” she said. “You’re one hot piece of ass, as usual.” She stuck her tongue out at me and then looked me over.
She did tend to look me over a lot in the years we’d known each other. I often wondered if she secretly had the same feelings for me that I’d always had for her, but I could never really be sure. I always knew she cared for me and was attracted to me, but regarding the two of us together, I was as confused as you probably are.
I ignored her and went into my bedroom to change my clothes.
She followed.
While it was never anything unusual for her to see me naked, this time her following me did strike me as odd.
“Elias?”
I looked from the open top drawer of my dresser to her.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
This was serious. I had only seen that thoughtful, intent look on her face a few times before, and it was always about something that would later prove to define our strange relationship even more, like adding colors to a black-and-white painting. So far only a quarter of that painting had been filled in. Once with her confession to me that she lost her virginity to Michael Pearson—that about fucking killed me. Once when I admitted I lost mine to Abigail Rutherford—I thought Bray was going to hate me forever after that. Apparently, Abigail Rutherford was Bray’s worst enemy, though I never got that impression until after I slept with her. Then once when she gave me her first blowjob because she “needed the practice”—for days after that, I was in a haze. I couldn’t get the image out of my head, not necessarily because of the act itself but because of the trust she had in me to want me to be the one. And once when I ate her out in my car underneath a bridge overpass, because she dared me to do it. Bray never ceased to shock the hell out of me. Always in a good way. Yeah, those were some colorful fucking brushstrokes.
As I stood at the dresser, new boxers in my hand, I could only wonder what color we would be adding to that painting today.
She sat down on the end of my bed. Her silky dark hair framed her peach-colored face and fell down over both of her bare shoulders.
“What’s up?” I asked, concealing my impatience.
She glanced toward the closet and then looked back at me. “Madelyn will be at this party.”
I thought I knew where this was going, but I couldn’t be sure. I was having a hard time reading Bray, which in itself was foreign to me.
“So?”
“So, I know you have a thing for her. I don’t like her.” Bray struggled with those words; I could see it in her face that she really wanted to say something else. She was hiding something. I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but I needed a bit more proof.
Giving up on changing clothes, I shut the top drawer and leaned against the edge of the dresser, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I don’t have a thing for her,” I said. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with her once, but that’s not a “thing.” “Why don’t you like her?”
“She’s…