The Way We Talk

I wake up in a bed that is not my own.

This isn't horribly common, I swear. I simply live closer to the edge of campus than the center of it, and quite a few of my friends don't even live on the GW campus. It's a far trek from some of these places even when you aren't wasted.

Though, judging by the slight headache and dizziness, alcohol was definitely a factor last night.

Okay, retracing my steps. Last night, Chris used his intense powers of coercion to drag me to the last TKE party of the year. Clearly, I consumed enough to black out much past that.

Oh fuck.

I'm not sure if I wish I didn't know where I am. 30 Seconds to Mars poster, Orlando Magic calender, black beanbag chair, three unmatching rugs of various colors. The terrible decorating job could only belong to one person.

How the hell did I get from Van Ness to Christian's room?

I sit up slowly to guarantee that my world won't spin too fast, and sigh.

The boy himself is curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, fast asleep. He's shirtless but still has pants on, and not of the pajama variety. I look down at my wrinkled dress and realize that we both passed out in our clothes.

I carefully slide out of the bed and slip into Christian's bathroom. The quicker I can get out, the greater chance of avoiding the awkward conversation that will inevitably happen if or when he wakes up and I'm still here.

I am equally shocked and disgusted by my appearance. My straightened-to-perfection hair now falls in odd waves. My eye makeup is smudged in every way possible, giving me the appearance of a raccoon in a red dress.

I turn on the faucet the quietest that I can, then press my damp hands to my hair in the hopes of taming it long enough to head back to my dorm. I spy Christian's toothbrush on top of the sink and grab it. I'm already here; I might as well make myself comfortable.

The door to the bathroom opens, and I freeze mid-brush. I am the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or at least the girl brushing her teeth with the toothbrush of the guy who basically threw her out of his life like she was three-month-old takeout.

"There you are." Christian doesn't appear to be angry. Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses the top of my head before settling his chin there. "I was a little worried there when I woke up and you weren't there."

This has to be a dream. An unfair, unfair dream. Christian doesn't want me. I hate this boy.

I wince as I dig my nails into my palm as hard as I can. I'm wide awake. Dammit. Who am I kidding? I can't hate that boy, and believe me; I've tried.

I grunt, the universal noise for "I need to spit", and he loosens his grip on me. I rinse the brush and hand it to him. What is the protocol for this situation anyway?

He keeps an arm around my waist as he brushes his teeth. He simply slackens his grip to spit, as if he thinks that I'll fade away if we aren't touching.

"Why am I here?"

Christian chuckles. "You don't remember, do you?" I don't respond, and he tightens his grip on me. I hate myself for sinking into him. "Not going to lie, I'd be surprised if you remembered anything. You were so wasted at the part that they had to kick you out or they'd get in trouble. You puked in the bathroom of the TKE house, their kitchen, the sidewalk, the cab, my bathroom, and all over me. You scared the shit out of me, Ric."

I attempt to pull out of his grip, ashamed. "I'm sorry," I mutter into his chest. I can almost hear the lecture already: "How irresponsible of you for drinking like that on an empty stomach?...Why can't you keep yourself together without me?" After all, it wasn't his job to take care of my super-drunk ass last night.

He doesn't let me go, though. "Hey, it's okay. You're alright now. How's the hangover?"

I shrug, no longer trying to resist him. It takes too much energy, really. "Eh, I've had way worse. Little dizzy, but the headache's not too bad."

Christian sighs in relief. "That's so good. I kept trying to get food and water and aspirin into your system - anything, really - but for the longest thing, everything that went in came out a few minutes later. But eventually you stopped throwing your guts up, but it's safe to say that you puked up most of what you drank."

"Thanks for not Emerge-ing me," I whisper, genuinely thankful. It would have been my first offense, but I'd rather not explain my first alcohol hospitalization to my parents.

He pecks the top of my head again. "Like, I'm not going to lie, I was totally freaked out, and had it gotten any worse, I would have. But you started sobering up when we got to campus. You just drank too much and I sincerely doubt you had dinner beforehand." He pinches my side at that- busted. I don't even bother to ask how he knew- all-liquid vomit is a tell-tale sign.

"Why were you there anyway? I'm sure Chris didn't call you to be my knight in shiny armor or anything?"

Christian chuckles at that. "Uh, I was invited, same as you. And the steel makes me look fat, to be honest."

My face crinkles at this. Not the image of Christian jousting that I just conjured on a second ago, but the invitation that I wasn't aware he got. "Chris said that he didn't invite you. He's pretty pissed off at you."

Christian turns me - slowly - so that I'm facing him instead of just looking at our reflection in the mirror. "Chris knew you wouldn't show up if you knew I'd be there. I made sure to arrive after you were a few drinks in so you wouldn't just leave. But you're right; Kamrada's pretty pissed with me. But I'm still his best friend and I knew you'd listen to him if no one else."

It was a set-up. Christian just wanted to see me again to assuage his guilty conscience and affirm that I'm the bad guy and that I'm too drunk not to forgive him. Perfect Christian just wanted a proper goodbye instead of the one where we all but got to second base outside of Ivory.

"How does Maria feel about this? Wouldn't this be a direct violation of her little ultimatum?"

Christian smirks. "She doesn't get to have an opinion. I broke up with her a week and a half ago, which you would have known, had you not blocked me on every single social networking site imaginable."

I will admit that I'm guilty of that last part. I couldn't bear to see his status updates or his tweets. It just hurt too much. But he broke up with her. He broke up with her.

I always fantasized what it would be like, hearing about their breakup. I always assumed that he'd call me, in or near tears, and we'd have comfort sex after he told me that Maria dumped him. He'd figure out afterwards that I'm better anyway.

But I never pondered the possibility that he would be the one to end it.

"Why?" I think he knows that his question represents all the questions I can't vocalize right now- why did you break up with her, why now, why me, why did you choose her in the first place.

"People change. Maria changed and I changed and we don't fit anymore. We've spent the last few months hoping that things would go back to the way they were but they won't." His hand goes to my face, traveling down to trace my jaw. It then drops to grab mine, and he bumps our intertwined hands to his heart. He has that same, intense look on his face that says he's being completely honest about something important. "You drive me nuts, Ric. You're always right and you turn my ridiculousness into common sense. I'm too comfortable with you and you scare the shit about me. And it didn't really hit me until like four days after the fact that I've been chasing this dead relationship for ages and threw away the realest thing I've ever had."

His nose bumps mine, and I shiver as I feel his breath on my lips. "I love you too, Christian," I say without a quiver in my voice, picking up the distinct message in his mini-speech. In response, he lowers his head to close the gap. I can feel him smiling against my lips. His kiss is neither urgent nor demanding; rather, it's slow and sweet, and the only way I can think to describe it is like coming home.

And it's in this moment that I realize it was supposed to be this way. We were supposed to meet on accident and connect immediately. Not being together allowed us to foster an emotional intimacy that surpasses any other friendship I've had (barring the one I have with Katrina). We are what we have become. Together. Us.

It's that reason that I let him throw me over his shoulder and drop me onto his bed. This same bed holds so many memories: of jokes over takeout and beer, and the times we drank coffee by the pot and talked about nothing, and the nights we slept in each others' arms and didn't care about the consequences.

And it's that reason that I let him take me then and there.