It's Not Your Fault
Chapter 10
Half an hour later, I found myself curled up on Evan’s spacious bed, lost in thought. It was a relatively familiar position, except that night, my thoughts were far from familiar.
I was reliving the night’s events—unwillingly, if I may add. I felt myself shudder as I remembered my mom’s face. Luckily, Evan spared me from thinking anymore. I adjusted my oversized t-shirt and boxers—courtesy of Ev, of course—and scooted over on the bed as he walked in. His brown hair was darker and shinier than usual, a clear sign that he’d showered.
Oh, and he reeked of Axe shower gel. Phoenix, if I’m not mistaken.
Evan smiled when he saw me already settled. Usually, he’d gripe at me for borrowing his clothes without asking, but he knew tonight wasn’t a good night. He wordlessly traded his jeans and—ugh—Abercrombie shirt for a pair of black boxers and a white t-shirt. He climbed into bed beside me and turned to face me.
“Yeah?” I asked. I knew that look on his face.
“…Well?” he asked, probing.
“Well what?”
“How…are you?”
“Lame question, dude.”
“Dani…”
“What? I’m fine, really!”
“You’re fine? You mean, fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?”
“No, dumbass, I’m…fuzzy…ignorant…nutty and…enthusiastic!”
Evan glared at me. I scowled.
“Yeah, Ev, I’m fine. Exactly what you said.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“C’mon, Dani. You’re really not helping me. You know I’m not good at this.”
“Yeah, well…I’m not supposed to make it easy for you. You’re supposed to poke and prod at me, using
subtle and sympathetic—yet effective—questions, until I finally crack and tell you exactly how I’m feeling.”
“…I hate it when you go all psycho-cology on me.”
“But it’s my job.”
“Exactly!” Evan threw his hands up in exasperation. “You’re supposed to probe me with this psycho crap, not the other way around! You’re supposed to willingly spill your heart to me before I even mention it. I, on the other hand, am supposed to have a solid brick wall surrounding me.” He gave me a smug look.
Jerk. “Oh, really?” I snorted. “And why am I the emotionally unstable one?”
“Because.” He shrugged and stared at the ceiling.
“Because what?” I snapped.
“Because. You’re the girl.”
I gasped and sat up in the bed. “You CAD! That is the worst possible reason you’ve ever had, for anything! And yeah, that’s including the pickle incident!”
Evan sat up, looking hurt. “Hey, now! I’ll have you know that the pickle excuse was WAY worse than this!” He smirked. Stupid know-it-all.
“Ugh!” I flopped back onto the bed. I made a big show of turning my back to Evan. I could practically hear him rolling his eyes and lying down, his back facing mine. We lay like that for a few moments, the table lamp still on. Finally, the silence got to me. I snuck a glance over my shoulder at the exact moment that Evan did the same. Suddenly, we both burst out laughing. Evan turned off the lamp and wrapped his arms around me.
“God, Patel,” he muttered as I wriggled myself into a comfortable position. Muscles don’t make the best pillows, you know. “What if someone saw us like this?”
“What, in bed together? Oh, they’d probably call me slut, or a whore, or a slore. And then the girls would beat me to a bloody pulp, promptly returning to your side to resume their position as your very own drooling posse.”
Evan smirked at me. “Actually, I meant if they saw the crazy and pointless fights we have.”
“…Oh. Well, it’d basically be the same thing. Except I’d be called a psycho, and your posse would accuse me of robbing you of your sanity.”
Evan laughed. It was a light, sleepy sound. “Good night, Patel.”
“’Night, Ev.”
I was reliving the night’s events—unwillingly, if I may add. I felt myself shudder as I remembered my mom’s face. Luckily, Evan spared me from thinking anymore. I adjusted my oversized t-shirt and boxers—courtesy of Ev, of course—and scooted over on the bed as he walked in. His brown hair was darker and shinier than usual, a clear sign that he’d showered.
Oh, and he reeked of Axe shower gel. Phoenix, if I’m not mistaken.
Evan smiled when he saw me already settled. Usually, he’d gripe at me for borrowing his clothes without asking, but he knew tonight wasn’t a good night. He wordlessly traded his jeans and—ugh—Abercrombie shirt for a pair of black boxers and a white t-shirt. He climbed into bed beside me and turned to face me.
“Yeah?” I asked. I knew that look on his face.
“…Well?” he asked, probing.
“Well what?”
“How…are you?”
“Lame question, dude.”
“Dani…”
“What? I’m fine, really!”
“You’re fine? You mean, fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?”
“No, dumbass, I’m…fuzzy…ignorant…nutty and…enthusiastic!”
Evan glared at me. I scowled.
“Yeah, Ev, I’m fine. Exactly what you said.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“C’mon, Dani. You’re really not helping me. You know I’m not good at this.”
“Yeah, well…I’m not supposed to make it easy for you. You’re supposed to poke and prod at me, using
subtle and sympathetic—yet effective—questions, until I finally crack and tell you exactly how I’m feeling.”
“…I hate it when you go all psycho-cology on me.”
“But it’s my job.”
“Exactly!” Evan threw his hands up in exasperation. “You’re supposed to probe me with this psycho crap, not the other way around! You’re supposed to willingly spill your heart to me before I even mention it. I, on the other hand, am supposed to have a solid brick wall surrounding me.” He gave me a smug look.
Jerk. “Oh, really?” I snorted. “And why am I the emotionally unstable one?”
“Because.” He shrugged and stared at the ceiling.
“Because what?” I snapped.
“Because. You’re the girl.”
I gasped and sat up in the bed. “You CAD! That is the worst possible reason you’ve ever had, for anything! And yeah, that’s including the pickle incident!”
Evan sat up, looking hurt. “Hey, now! I’ll have you know that the pickle excuse was WAY worse than this!” He smirked. Stupid know-it-all.
“Ugh!” I flopped back onto the bed. I made a big show of turning my back to Evan. I could practically hear him rolling his eyes and lying down, his back facing mine. We lay like that for a few moments, the table lamp still on. Finally, the silence got to me. I snuck a glance over my shoulder at the exact moment that Evan did the same. Suddenly, we both burst out laughing. Evan turned off the lamp and wrapped his arms around me.
“God, Patel,” he muttered as I wriggled myself into a comfortable position. Muscles don’t make the best pillows, you know. “What if someone saw us like this?”
“What, in bed together? Oh, they’d probably call me slut, or a whore, or a slore. And then the girls would beat me to a bloody pulp, promptly returning to your side to resume their position as your very own drooling posse.”
Evan smirked at me. “Actually, I meant if they saw the crazy and pointless fights we have.”
“…Oh. Well, it’d basically be the same thing. Except I’d be called a psycho, and your posse would accuse me of robbing you of your sanity.”
Evan laughed. It was a light, sleepy sound. “Good night, Patel.”
“’Night, Ev.”