friends (rick riley and scott holland)(INDEFINITE HIATUS)

chapter eight

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chapter eight: wilting

a/n:

tw(s) — gwen has issues, a brief mention of pee, br*dy mention, blood, phillip banks is a bad dad, slut shaming, charlie conway has internalized homophobia

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Sometimes, Gwen wishes that she could let a person love her.

It's a quiet thought, one never voiced in fear of ridicule, and it's not one that frequently crosses her mind. She's got bigger, more urgent things to concern herself with, after all (like applying to college, or the three people who rely on her to make it through the day.) It's just a thought that tends to linger in her mind whenever she has the misfortune of thinking it. It would just be nice, she thinks, to be loved in return for all of the love she has within her. To have a boy pick her up at seven and drop her off before her imaginary curfew, and collect a shoebox of memorabilia that she hides under her bed and away from her brothers' prying hands, and truly enjoy sex, maybe, for once in her short life.

But, as much as she wishes, she knows better than to think any man would be capable of loving her. She knows that men's hearts, unlike their skin or a woman's womb, are tough and will not stretch to fit her. A man would never understand that she only has so much room in her life, too, and that she can't center herself around him. Her father, however absent, had taught her that much.

As nice as it is to get lost in such saccharine thoughts, she's aware that they're just the dreams of a little girl who thought life would be different when she hit this age.

Which is why, when she wakes up with Rick's arms around her and Scott's heartbeat in her ears and so very warm, she doesn't let herself enjoy it. Enjoying it would mean a moment of weakness, and she was already feeling so low from the hangover that thinking about her lack of a love life would probably drive her to start drinking again.

Gwen, instead, carefully unwinds herself from Rick's tight grasp and slowly crawls down the bed.

He doesn't wake up, just rolls toward the middle and wraps himself around Scott, who makes a strange noise in his sleep but doesn't stir too much. She stands at the foot of the bed, her head throbbing, and quietly watches them until her world stops spinning enough for her to make it to Scott's bathroom.

The shower water is almost too hot, but Gwen pushes the thought aside.

She washes herself with Scott's Old Spice and scrubs her skin with a cloth until it's raw, red, and stings; sniffling, she looks down at a patch that's particularly dark and knows it will bruise, but feels relieved as all evidence of Dom slide off her body and circle the drain.

Sleeping with Brody had been a worse choice by a long shot, but this is a heavier emotional weight. She hadn't cared if Brody was hurt or not because she's required to hate Brody. He's someone she's never going to see outside of a few hockey games, and even then she won't have to interact with him.

Dom isn't just someone she can avoid.

He runs in the same social circles as her. If Rachel keeps using Jeff as a distraction from Cole, then they're going to be seeing a lot of each other.