Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 54 🌶️

Emersyn

I've been avoiding Marx again, instead of talking to him like an adult. I know I need to talk to him. I need to figure out what is going on between us or if nothing is. I need clarity. I always feel like the lines between friendship and more blur more often than not. I will be happy if we are just friends, or at least that's what I tell myself. But then I get nervous thinking about talking to him. The possibility that he will reject me stings.

But avoidance isn't a solution. It's a temporary respite. It's like holding my breath and hoping the problem will dissipate on its own. It won't. It hasn't. Every time I see him, the air between us is thick with unspoken words, heavy with a tension that neither of us seems able to address.

As I stand at the sink, the warm water running over my hands, I watch the soap bubbles swirl around the plates and glasses. The mundane task doesn't quiet the storm in my mind. If anything, it amplifies the silence of the kitchen, making each thought echo louder in my head.

I need to talk to him, I repeat to myself. But the thought alone sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I've misread every sign, every look? The comfort of our friendship is something I treasure, and the risk of losing that terrifies me.

I'm so lost in thought that I barely hear the door open. It's Fowler, his easy smile in place as he leans against the doorframe.

"Hey, Emmie," he greets me casually. "Val and I are going to catch the new horror flick tonight. Want to join? Might be good to take your mind off things."

I pause, considering. A night out, especially one filled with the adrenaline of a horror movie, might be just what I need to stop the spiraling thoughts. But then again, there's a part of me that wonders if this will just be another way to avoid dealing with Marx and my tangled emotions.

I dry off my hands, turning off the water and facing Fowler. "Sure," I find myself saying, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I could use a distraction."

He grins, pleased. "Great! It's a date then. We'll head out in an hour."

As he heads back to his room, I'm left with a moment of quiet. The offer hangs in the air, a momentary escape from the reality I'm facing. But as I wipe down the counter, I know that no matter how loud the movie is or how much I try to immerse myself in the fictional horror on screen, the real fear is what waits for me when I finally have that conversation with Marx.

An hour passes quickly, and before I know it, Fowler is calling me from the hallway. "Emmie, let's go! Val's waiting in the car." I grab my jacket and purse, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out the door. The night is cool and clear, a sharp contrast to the muddled thoughts in my head.

We arrive at the theater, the neon lights casting a vibrant glow over the entrance. It's a modern multiplex, with posters of upcoming blockbusters lining the walls. We make our way to the concession stand, Fowler insisting on getting the largest popcorn combo with extra butter. Val orders a large soda and a box of chocolate-covered almonds, while I settle for a small soda and some gummy bears.

The theater is crowded, the anticipation for the movie is almost tangible. We find seats near the back, a strategic choice by Val who claims it's the best spot to experience all the jumps and scares. As the lights dim and the screen flickers to life, I try to lose myself in the movie, to let the suspense and the adrenaline drown out my own anxieties.

But as the characters on screen navigate their own fears and uncertainties, I can't help but draw parallels to my own situation. Like them, I'm at a crossroads, facing something unknown and potentially life-changing. And like them, I can either run from it or confront it head-on.