what happens after sunset | ✓

eleven

⋆ p h o n e c a l l s & b a c k w a r d s t e p s ⋆

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eccedentesiast (n.)
someone who hides pain behind
a smile

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    IT'S 6 AM WHEN I GET THE CALL, phone lighting up and vibrating on the night stand. Groggily, I see an unknown number and decline it, cursing the caller for disrupting my sleep. The third time it rings, I pick it up, ready to yell at whoever is on the other line.

    "Hey, Bumble," I hear Jordan's exhausted voice on the other line. I immediately sit up in bed, wondering why he's calling me so early on a Sunday.

    "What's up, Jordan? Why are you calling so early?"

    There's a pause on the line, and I can hear the muffled chatter in the background.

    "Wait, where are you?", I ask when he doesn't respond. He emits a long sigh.

    "Before you freak out, let me finish, okay?", he starts and I murmur a yes.

    "I'm at the police station, Bumble," he pushes out, "I got arrested for some stupid shit, but long story short, they're letting me go. I... need someone to pick me up, and you're the only person I could think of."

    I try to calm my racing heartbeat as it kicks into overdrive at his words.

    "What about your parents?", I ask after a few seconds of silence.

    "They... aren't available," he says vaguely, causing a million more questions to rise to the surface, but I manage to swallow them down.

    "Okay, I'm on my way," I finish before ending the call, despite every nerve in my body screaming for me to stay here. I slip down the stairs and start the car, driving to the station.

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    The police station is a beehive of people, moving around in all directions, talking into their phones. Noises sound from every corner as people continue to move around me.

    I approach the counter and tell them I'm here to pick up Jordan. I'm a bundle of nerves and anticipation as they take me to his holding cell. Silvery blue flashes of shock speed through me as I take him in. One of Jordan's eyes is bruised and swollen, his hair messily ruffled as if he'd been in a fight. He's in the same suit from last night, small scuff marks and tears dotting the fabric. He has bags under his eyes, leading me to believe he didn't get any sleep last night, and when he runs a tired hand over his face, I see his bruised and scratched knuckles dotted in dried blood. He turns to look at me, his haunting green eyes swirling with storms of emotion, most prominently relief.

    "Let's go," I say coldly, unrecognizing of my own voice. The police officer unlocks the door and we walk out, him following my brisk walk. The cool morning air rushes over us as we exit the station, the tips of golden sun rays peeking over the horizon.

    "Want to tell me what you did to get in there?", I ask once I pull out of the parking lot.

    "I... I'm sorry...," he starts, and my heart sinks.

    "Really? You don't trust me enough to tell me? You know almost everything about me, from my parents to my weaknesses, and I don't even know where you're from, where your parents are, or anything else!", my voice reaches a high crescendo that comes spiraling down when I reach a realization, "I don't even know you at all."

    "Bumble..." he murmurs softly as if I'm something fragile that's going to break.    

    "You think it's okay to finally let me in, to kiss me, and suddenly clam up when I ask you a question?", my voice breaks, shaking with an anger that came out of nowhere.

    "I've done so much for you in the past, told you everything you asked truthfully without asking any questions, and proved that you can trust me," I continue, knowing that I should stop talking, but I can't, "and it was so hard for me to do that."

    "It's not that easy, Andy," he exhales, the use of my real name sending another pang to my heart.

    "You know," I say, quieting to a whisper, "if anyone asked me if I trusted you this morning before you called, I would have said that I trusted you with my life. No one has ever made me feel more safe and more cared for than you. I thought it was mutual, but I guess I was wrong." I cut him off before he can respond.

    "Now, are you going to tell me where you live, or are you going to walk home like last time?", my anger has faded into a dull ache. He quietly tells me his address, and I put it into my gps.

    "I get that it's hard, Jordan," I say, my words heavy, "but until you trust me enough to start opening up a little, nothing is going to happen between us." My voice is dusted with rivulets of pain and coated with sincerity. His eyes have lost the glimmer they had the last time I saw him, leaving behind an empty shell of raw emotions battling for dominance. He looks conflicted with himself as his fist clenches, a clear sign of his frustration.

    After the dance had finished, we left in his car, and he parked right outside my house.

    "Look, Andy, I get it if you're not comfortable with what just happened, and if you really wanted to..." he trails off, looking pained, "then we can pretend that never happened. I wouldn't blame you."

    "But, I want to try. There is something about you that draws me in and makes me want to be the one to brush surprise kisses across your lips, the one to help you carry your books in the hall, the one you call yours. Anything that has to do with you, I want. I want it all."

    I am a loss for anything to say, his sweet words making me melt. I am stunned that this is even happening to me, it feels so surreal I almost pinch myself. But the strong scent of his cologne and his firm, commanding presence remind me that it is not, making everything all more real. After running away from any sort of relationship for years, this is all new to me.

    "Just think about it, Bumble," he smiles, his emerald eyes glinting in the dark.

    We pull up to his house blanketed in silence, each moment stretching out, weighed down with deep meanings. Each second ticks by painfully, the quiet ever so loud. His lack of speech says more than any words could. I'm so caught up in him that it takes me a few seconds to register his home.

    I watch in a slight awe as I drive up the road to his house, as it is something out of a dream. It is a large, modern home, all clean angles and a sharp, sloped roof. It has large bay windows that reflect the bright sky, a geometric sculptured fountain bubbling with water outside a designed glass door. It is magnificent, airy, and grand, taking my breath away. It sparks curiosity as well as to why Jordan ever hid this from me.

But I only get seconds to take it all in before Jordan is slipping out of the passenger seat, solidifying the crack that has formed between us. The tension in the air is almost tangible, as if the relationship we'd slowly built up in the last few weeks is quickly unraveling right before my eyes. It's weird to think that so much has happened in the span of a few weeks that has shifted the course of my life. But it's even worse to think that in a few weeks, it's possible that we'll be no more than strangers once more.