The Beach House

Chapter 18: I Spilled My Guts, Now Spill Yours

              Soren and I sit like that for a while, not speaking. I close my eyes and feel the comfort of someone sitting with me. I breathe in the scent of laundry detergent on his clothes and feel the softness of his sweatshirt against my cheek. My dry cheek. Thank god I stopped crying. It makes me feel all weak and pathetic.

             "How're you feeling?"

             I open my eyes and move my head to look at him. For a moment I just stare at him. I feel something pulling on my face. I try to fight it but it's just too hard. I start laughing. Soren looks at me bewildered for a moment before smiling himself.

           "What? Why're you laughing?"

            I giggle in response. 

           "Yeah, ok, it's all a lot and laughing helps, but...," he says and raises an arm in surrender. "To be honest, you don't really seem as... upset as I'd expect someone to be? Or maybe surprised is the better word? I don't know."

          "Well... Noah's kinda done something like this before." I see Soren's expression and quickly amend. He probably thinks I'm so dumb for putting up with this twice. "I mean, not this bad. It was just a kiss. And he says he thought we'd broken up. And he was drunk. But maybe it was more than that back then, too. Who knows?"

           "I don't mean this in a judge-y way, honest, but... why did you stay with him?" I look down at the sand and and run my fingers through it. Despite my tries to keep it back, a tear escapes one eye. Just when I thought I was done.

         "I guess I don't like being alone."

         "That's not a very good reason."

          "Hey!"

          "It's true," he says with a shrug.

          "Yeah. Clearly," I say and gesture to my puffy face.

          "Clearly," he repeats as he reaches up and brushes off my singular tear. Again. I smile softly and he smiles back. The light from the moon is so bright that I can see everything around me. I glance back at the house where everyone's asleep. Well, almost everyone. I can see the lamp is still on in Ali and I's shared bedroom.

           "You make me talk too much," i accuse. 

           "Oh, it's my fault?"

            "Yeah, it is. You're too nice."

             "Sorry, I'll be meaner next time." He pokes me in the side with a goofy smile on his face.

             "Seriously, I've been, like, dominating our conversations. Self pitying and all that. You talk now."

           "That's a lot of pressure for a simple mean guy like me. Besides, it kinda seems like you're going through more at the moment. Gives you more material."

            "Ok, well, what if I ask you questions, then?"

            "That'd make things a little easier."

             I think for a moment on what to ask. It feels good to take my mind of the things, to think of someone else's life, so I relish in the distraction. I finally land on a question.