That’s exactly what those four words were. At least for long, still minutes.
The second I said them, everything in the room stopped. Everything stood still. I’m pretty sure my heart didn’t beat. Drew didn’t breathe… There was nothing.
Nothing but the words.
The meaning.
The implication.
The truth behind them.
Oh fuck.
I was about to make it worse, use my drunk brain to try and backpedal, try and make up some excuse.
He saved me.
Just as abruptly as everything stopped, it started up again. He started up again.
His fingers felt cool compared to my flushed skin as they wrapped around my chin. My face was tilted up, and I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see if he saw the truth behind my confession.
“You have it on your face,” he spoke. I felt the softness of my shirt brush over my chin as he used it to clean off the mess I’d made of myself.
I intensely regretted getting drunk tonight. For so, so many reasons.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, embarrassed.
“I know.”
I opened my eyes.
For just a millisecond, we connected.
For just a millisecond, I thought I felt something I hadn’t before.
Then he pulled away.
My shirt was tossed aside, and my total drunkenness came over me again. I groaned.
He laughed. “If you feel like shit now, you’re gonna be half dead tomorrow.”
“If I even make it to morning.” I fell back on the bed.
“You’ll make it.” He hit me on the leg. “On your side.”
“Who cares?” I grumbled, but as I did, I rolled from my back onto my side. The movement made me sick.
Again.
I retched violently for long moments, in between vowing to never drink again.
Drew didn’t say anything. He just held the trashcan because I was too fucking spent to do it for myself.
When I was done, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body shaking erratically.
He set the can on the table by the bed and disappeared. I felt the mattress dip when he sat on the other side.
“I can go down to the couch,” I stuttered between the clashing of my teeth.
“You’re staying, and so am I. Someone has to watch your drunk ass.”
I didn’t say anything. I just lay there and shuddered. He flipped the blanket up over me, and I curled in on myself a little farther in an attempt to stop shaking.
The room was dark and quiet. I don’t know how long I lay there trembling. I was in and out and completely miserable.
Eventually, I passed out.
But the temporary bliss of nothing was interrupted when I started puking up my guts again. I lunged for the bucket and winced against the sounds ripping from my throat.
Drew was there. He slid across the mattress right up against my back and tossed an arm over me to steady the bucket as I attempted to hold it.
I groaned and collapsed back onto the pillow. “There’s nothing left,” I groaned.
I’d literally thrown up everything inside me.
Drew didn’t seem as sure, and he held the bucket a few more minutes. His arm was draped over my middle, and his chest was pressed against my back. I closed my eyes and relaxed against the blankets. The trembling in my limbs subsided, and I let out a sigh of relief.
His body pressed farther against me when he leaned down to put the can aside. His bare skin brushed against mine, and I shivered.
He pulled back. “You cold?”
“No.”
Drew settled back on his side of the bed.
The trembling in my limbs started again. I wanted it to stop.
Without thought, I scooted backward, toward the center. I scooted until my back came up against his.
I felt him turn and glance back at me, but I didn’t look. I kept my face turned in the opposite direction.
“I just want to stop shaking,” I murmured and scooted a little closer, close enough I was pressed along him. Our backs were to each other, our shoulder blades touching, and so were our asses.
Within seconds, my entire body calmed again, the shaking waned, and I grew drowsy. As I was drifting off, I pushed one of my feet between his calves, tangling my leg with his.
Maybe if I wasn’t drunk out of my mind, I would have noticed him going still. Maybe I would have thought about what I was doing.
But I was drunk. I didn’t notice. I didn’t think.
But I did talk.
My dumb liquored-up tongue wasn’t done saying shit I would later pretend to forget.
“I won’t tell,” I whispered into the dark.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull away.
I fell asleep with the feel of him against me. I fell asleep hard and heavy.
When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. The room was empty, but the pillow beside me still bore the indent of his head.
And I remembered.
Even drunk out of my mind and sick enough to puke up everything inside me, I hadn’t been able to wipe it from my memory.
Turns out I hadn’t barfed up everything.
There was still something left inside me.
Feelings.
Moments that were still so fresh and new they couldn’t yet be considered memories.
Instead, they’d become secrets. A night I was “too drunk” to remember.
We could go back to being super bros.
Best friends.
It was better that way.