Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 2 🌶️

Emersyn

"Em, seriously, you can't just lie there forever. It's been five days," Valarie's voice filters through the blanket I've wrapped myself in. Her tone is soft but firm, like a gentle nudge in my side.

When I peek out from the blanket, I see Valarie standing in the doorway, her curly auburn hair cascading around her shoulders, catching the morning light. Her eyes, a soft shade of green, are filled with concern, and her full lips are set in a determined line. I've always admired how Valarie's appearance mirrors her personality: warm, inviting, and strong.

There's a playful sparkle in her eye, the one that's always been there since we were kids, but it's muted now, overshadowed by worry for me. Her slender frame leans against the doorframe as she crosses her arms, dressed in her favorite oversized sweater, waiting for my response.

I clutch the blanket even tighter. "Just a few more days to drown in my own misery, please," I plead. My heart hurts, my head hurts, everything hurts. Maybe if I lie here long enough, I will become one with the couch. Being a couch wouldn't be so bad.

"Sweetie," Valarie begins, "I'm saying this because I care, but you're starting to smell. And if you spend another day on my couch without taking a shower, I might have to toss the whole thing out."

I take a moment to process Valarie's comment. "There's no way I smell that bad," I mutter under my breath, a tinge of denial creeping in. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I reluctantly lift my arm to catch a whiff. Oh, holy fuck... Valarie wasn't exaggerating. I do smell.

The realization snaps me back to the present, the sharp sting of embarrassment cutting through my wallowing. I feel my cheeks flush, and my body suddenly feels heavy, tethered to reality.

Reluctantly, I loosen my grip on the blanket, allowing a sliver of light to penetrate my self-imposed darkness. Valarie's words have a way of cutting through my wallowing.

With a sigh, I peel myself away from the comforting warmth of my blanket cocoon, my body sluggish and uncooperative. The room spins momentarily, a physical manifestation of the emotional vertigo I've been feeling for days.

"There's my girl." Valarie's tone is annoyingly perky.

I shoot her a glare, sinking back down to where I just managed to sit up.

"Oh no you don't," Valarie declares, gripping my shoulders. "You can wallow all you want after you've taken a shower and had a proper meal."

With a playful yet determined expression, she pulls me up from the couch, her grip firm but gentle. There's a spark of mischief in her eyes that manages to flicker through my melancholy.

"Come on, Em. A hot shower will work wonders, I promise," she coaxes, leading me toward the bathroom like a reluctant child.

Fine, maybe she's right. Maybe a shower will help. But what's the point? Will it wash away the pain? Will it make everything okay again? I doubt it. It's just water. But Valarie cares, and she's trying to help me. I should at least give it a try.

I trudge along behind her, the weight of my sadness still clinging to me like a heavy cloak. The bathroom feels foreign and uninviting, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of my blanket cave.

As the shower comes to life, steam filling the room, I'm reminded of the countless times Valarie and I have shared this bathroom, shared this shower. The feel of her skin against mine, her lips against mine. Valarie and I have always been the best of friends.

There were a few times I thought we would be more, but it never happened. And then I met Lyle. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts as I turn my attention back to Valarie.