Wishing He Stayed
It’s midnight.
The numbers from my phone stare back at me, mocking me. I sigh, closing my eyes for a beat too long. When they pulse, I open them again.
I should be asleep. Jake definitely is, with his arm over my waist, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck. Usually, that would be comforting enough for me to get me sleeping.
But I’m wired. Eyes wide open, heart thudding like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest.
I sigh softly and shift onto my back, careful not to wake him. The conversation from earlier replays in my mind like a song I can’t stop humming.
The way he looked at me.
The way his voice cracked when he said he shouldn’t have let it become what it is.
Obsession.
That word sits heavy in my stomach.
I glance down at him. His face is peaceful in sleep, softened by the darkness. There are creases around his eyes, lines that have deepened over time. Smile lines, frown lines, little marks from the years he’s lived.
I trace one of them with my gaze and feel something twist in my chest.
He’s beautiful. In a way that has nothing to do with youth or perfection. He’s real. Tangible. Warm. But still, I wonder if I’m the crazy one here.
Is this wrong?
Will I look back years from now and see myself as a naïve, desperate girl who clung to something she shouldn’t have? Who reached out for love in all the wrong places?
I breathe out and shake my head. No. I won’t regret this. Not Jake. Not Zaid. Not Aiden.
Gently, I lift Jake’s arm from around me and slide out of bed. He stirs but doesn’t wake. I make my way downstairs, my bare feet silent against the wooden steps.
The kitchen is dark except for the faint light from the stove clock. I open the freezer and scowl when I see it’s empty. No ice cream.
I chew the inside of my cheek for a second before making up my mind. It’s not that late. The gas station down the street is still open. I grab my phone and slip outside without thinking too hard about it.
The night air is crisp and cool, brushing against my skin as I walk down the street.
The store is nearly empty. I make a beeline for the freezer section and grab a pint of cookie dough. Comfort food. An emotional life raft disguised in delicious calories.
The bell above the door jingles as I walk out, and I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I hear laughter.
Too familiar. I stop.
A group of people round the corner. They’re huddled together, loud and obnoxious. My heart lurches in my chest and my throat tightens.
It’s Sadie. Of course it’s Sadie. She’s standing there with two other girls, Will, and three guys I don’t recognize. I take a step back, hoping they don’t notice me.
But of course, if everything else is falling apart, why would tonight go smooth?
Sadie stops the group, her jaw dropping in mock surprise.
“Oh my god, look who it is,” she sneers loud enough for the whole block to hear.
Everyone stops their conversations, turning to me with raised eyebrows and disgusted eyes.
“Little Miss Daddy Issues herself.”
The words hit like slaps.
Sadie steps closer. “So tell me, did you beg Mr. Adams for it? Or did you ask nicely? Either way, you shouldn’t have been surprised that he rejected you.”
I try to push past them, but Sadie shoves at my shoulder just enough to make me stumble. My ice cream falls to the sidewalk with a soft thud.
Her laughter is sharp, and her friends immediately turn, their snickers joining hers as they circle me like vultures. “How loose are you down there?”
I grimace, trying to find an opening to escape them.
“Really, how easy do you have to be to let three guys take you all at once?”
My eyes burn. I clench my fists, trembling all over.
“Slut,” one of the other girl mutters.
“Pathetic little whore,” Sadie sneers. “Fucking your way into being noticed. It’s gross.”
They don’t know anything. They don’t know me. I repeat the words like a manta.
Still, the shame curls inside me like smoke. I blink rapidly, tears slipping down my cheeks.
“Seriously, do you just bounce between their beds like some pathetic little parasite?” the same girl snorts. “It’s giving desperate.”
Will, standing behind Sadie with a half eaten plate of chili cheese fries, chuckles darkly. “Maybe she’s just hungry for something else.”
Then, before I can move, react, or even blink, Sadie grabs the plate and flings it right at me.
The fries, cheese, and sauce splatter across my chest and stomach, staining my shirt. I look down with my mouth open in shock.
Laughter erupts from the group.
“Oh shit,” Sadie laughs, grabbing her stomach, “that color looks great on you.”
I drop to my knees on the sidewalk, grabbing the now dented ice cream with shaking fingers. My breaths come shallow, and I wipe at my face, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
By the time I walk back through the front door, I’m shaking.
The cold air hasn’t helped. Neither did the walk. The smell of my shirt makes my stomach turn. My cheeks are still wet, and even though the tears have slowed, my heart hasn’t.
I shut the door behind me quietly, but the soft clink of something from the kitchen stops me.
“Alina?”
I freeze. It’s Zaid. He steps into view, a sandwich in one hand, his brows furrowing the second his eyes meet mine.
“Fuck, what happened?” His voice drops, tense and urgent as he rushes to me, his sandwich forgotten on the counter.
He takes the dented ice cream from my hand and sets it down gently. “Are you okay? Who did this?”
I try to speak, but the words stick. My lips tremble, and I shake my head.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not. “Can you just, can you get Aiden? Please?”
His expression falters. “Aiden’s asleep, love.”
The word coming from his lips makes me nauseous.
Zaid moves closer. “I can still be here for you, Alina.”
I blink fast as more tears threaten to fall, but Zaid doesn’t press. He just starts to help me, careful and patient. He peels off my shirt slowly, guiding my arms up, making sure the mess doesn’t get into my hair. His touch is gentle, so gentle it almost undoes me.
“There,” he says softly, and my breath hitches at the way his eyes trace over my tear stricken face. His jaw tightens, like it’s taking everything in him not to say what he’s thinking.
He places a hand on the small of my back and leads me upstairs. The house is quiet, the world muted, except for the pounding in my ears.
When we get to the bathroom, he turns on the shower for me, testing the water with his hand until it’s just right.
“I’ll put your ice cream in the freezer,” he says. “So it’s waiting for you when you’re done.”
I nod absently, even though all I want to do is ask him to stay.
I just watch him leave, the soft click of the door louder than it should be.
And I stand there in the steam, wishing his arms were still around me, wishing he would kiss me. Wishing he stayed.
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