After playing Call Of Duty for another half an hour, Nate paused the game, staring intently at me through his Caribbean Sea blue eyes.
"What?" I ask, looking away from the awkwardness. I hit play and the game begins again. Nate immediately pauses it again, aggravating me. I look over to see him still staring at me.
"WHAT?!"
"What's wrong?" he asks, turning his body towards me, taking off his headset and placing it next to him. He takes my controller and his, and puts them with his headset. I want to tell him exactly what's wrong, but for some reason, part of me doesn't.
"Nothing, I'm fine. Can we just keep playing?" I ask, making my voice sound pissed.
"No. Tell me."
"There's nothing to tell, I'm fine."
“No your not. Tell me."
“I AM FINE!”
"Oh come on! you’ve died like 20 times in the last half hour. Even I’M beating you at Call Of Duty. Seriously, I'm your best friend! You think I can't see that there's something wrong?" he says, clearly getting annoyed.
"Please, does it have to do with your mom?" he asks, calmer now. I don’t say anything, I’m afraid that if I start talking, I won’t be able to stop. And then I’ll get all girly and emotional. God knows that that’s exactly what I need. (Note the sarcasm)
“Alyssa, please,” Nate says, pleadingly. I look down at my hands. Thinking about what my mum has just done, what she’s going to do, without realizing it, I let out a tear. Nate wipes it away with his thumb, his fingers lingering on my cheek. He pulls away when I look up to see him staring at me, his clear blue eyes dilated. But what I see in his eyes is not only my reflection, but trust, honesty, and god knows what else.
I look away, hoping to save any self control that I have left. “Please talk to me, Alyssa.” he says, his voice softer, more exposed than usual.
“I don’t want to,” I say, looking back up at him. I feel like crying. Crying more than I already am… Nate leans over and pulls me into a big hug, letting me lay my head on his shoulder. I wrap my arms tight around his neck and let out a small sob. “It’s alright, A,” whispers Nate, his hand slowly moving up and down my back. Not in that weird, creepy way, but more comforting. And it was.
As soon as my breathing slows, I pull away, embarrassed. Why? I have no idea. Nate’s been my best friend ever since I can remember. Almost all of my good memories include Nate. And dad. Nate looks up at me, eyes full of sorrow. That’s what I like about him. He can be fun and silly when I want, or more serious and content when I need him to be. Nate understands me perfectly, he knows about everything that I’ve been through.
“I miss him, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I know you do, but I know that’s not all, silly. I can see it,” he says, giving me the universal “I got my eyes on you” signal.
“Yeah it is, it’s just bothering me a lot right now. I can’t believe it’s been four years already, it hardly feels like a day. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Yeah, I understand,” says Nate, his face now giving me a knowing look.
“So, how’s your mom been doing lately?” God dang-it! I punch him hard in the stomach, jumped off the bed, and ran out the door, and shut it right after yelling “I HATE YOU!” The door shut, but quickly opened again, Nate running to catch up with me.
