Roommates with Benefits [COMPLETED]

Chapter 37 - Reminders

Emma

I keep leaving.

Every time we're done, I wait for him to ask me to stay. He never does. So I pick up my clothes and go back to my room, where I spend an hour wondering why I keep going back to his bed.

I don't like the secrecy, but I'm not about to tell my brother I'm sleeping with his best friend. Not when said friend keeps reminding me we're only friends.

That's another thing that grates on me. Knightley keeps assuring me we're friends.

At first I wasn't sure why, but then I noticed the panic in his eyes. He doesn't want anything else. Which is fine. I don't do love, but every time he tells me it can be nothing more, it stings. But I understand. Friends with benefits. That's all this is.

It's that panic that makes me leave every night. Because I want this. I can't imagine not having him in my life.

I don't think Knightley has told anyone about us. Nobody has mentioned it to me and Noah hasn't freaked out.

I haven't said anything either. Because it's nothing. It doesn't matter that I sneak into his room several times a week. Or that we had the talk about not being with anyone else.

It doesn't matter that I have to force myself to stay away from the apartment. Force myself to have a life away from him when all I want is to curl up on the couch and watch the trashy reality show we've become addicted to.

Sometimes, Hannah joins us and acts as a buffer. I almost feel bad for making her chaperone us, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's even started opening up a bit more around Knightley and I like that they're friendly.

But I keep leaving. And every time I do, I tell myself it's the last time. That it's over.

And then I go back.

March arrives with a sun that warms my face and promises of an end to slippery sidewalks and red noses.

I've been so occupied with Knightley it's not until I'm arriving back home from class and I get a call from dad that I realize what day it is.

I freeze inside the door. Knightley isn't home. He texted me earlier, letting me know he'd be out with Noah.

I stare at the screen and take a deep breath.

"Dad?"

"Emma. How are you?"

He's slurring just a bit, and I close my eyes and sigh silently. "I'm fine, dad. How are you?"

"Not so great. Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes, dad," I say in a weak voice as I drag myself to the couch.

"Why did she go, Emma?"

I hate this. And I think part of me hates my mom for doing this to him. For doing this to me.

"I don't know."

"We had it all. I could have taken care of her."

"I know, dad. Have you been drinking? Are you at home?"

"I took the day off."

He always does. That first year, when my mom left, I was eight years old. Noah was ten, but he had Knightley and he would go to his house. There was always some excuse for him to not be home.

So I would come home after school and do what I could. While dad cried and drank a bit too much.

Coming home that first day, the day she left... I got off the bus, and she wasn't there, so I ran inside, eager to show her a drawing the teacher had complimented. But the house was silent.