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Chapter Seven - Late Night Confessions
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It's almost eleven when we get home. After dropping off Xaiver and Asher, we finally got Norah into my house—almost without any trouble. She had suddenly became almost lifeless in the car, body limp, all the while whining softly under her breath and then for some reason hysterically began to cry.
Mom had unfortunately woken up to our struggling to get my crying, drunk friend inside.
She was obviously concerned but I just explained what happened and she informed me to take a trash can up for her and put it by the bed just in case she throws up, which in the state she's in, I'm almost positive she will at some point.
Now she's passed out in the blow up mattress next to my bed with a bottle of water and trash can next to her. In fear of her puking, I'd much rather her sleep alone and on the floor.
No offense, Norah.
After brushing my teeth, I walk out of my bathroom to see Dylan grabbing a pillow off my bed. He's changed into some basketball shorts now.
"What are you doing?" I ask him quietly.
"Was gonna sleep on the couch," he tells me and my mouth forms into an O shape before shaking my head and shrugging.
"You don't have to do that," I remark, pushing my hair behind my ear. I could really use some comforting.
"Don't mind if I sleep with you?" he questions with a small smile and I smile back myself with a shake of my head.
The room is dark and quiet besides the fan running for sleep noise. I'm not very drunk anymore but I feel a little buzz still there and my stomach feels a bit queasy. My throat is also still a little dry, even after chugging a full water bottle.
Dylan's hard shoulder presses against me as we lie there. We haven't really said much since we got in bed but I think I'd rather just go to sleep anyway. I'm just in need of some physical contact for comfort.
I roll over on my side to face him, closing my eyes when he reaches over to rub circles on my arm—almost like he read my mind. He turns on his side towards me, fresh breath wafting towards me and it makes my insides tingle.
"Are we gonna talk about earlier?" he then asks, voice quiet and raspy in the dark and I swallow, licking at my dry lips.
"What about earlier?" I'm playing dumb but I'm honestly not sure which part he's talking about. My obvious upset state or the random call I gave him for a dare that just so happened to be true.
"You know what," he responds and I do.
He means both of those things.
"I had to call you for a dare—a drinking game," I explain vaguely but I'm not done even though I don't continue immediately after.
