Intrepid » n.h. au

Chapter 19

"Wow," Is, naturally, all Seth has to say when I finish telling him what happened a couple of days ago. "And... and you really told her that in the end?"

"Yeah," I tell him bluntly, my sixth can of beer looking a little fuzzy to me as I inspect it. "And she took me seriously, thank God. Hasn't tried to call me, or anything."

I look over at Seth, who doesn't look all that entertained, but the way he's putting effort into making his face look concerned is enough for me. "You can go now," I say, louder than needed, and he nods, almost relieved. I know that I shouldn't have come to him to talk about my problems; I just didn't have anyone else to talk to. Well, there's Leanne, but she's a girl. She'd probably take... I-don't-even-know-how-to-call-her-anymore's side.

"Good. And, you know... if you ever wanna vent to anyone..." I'm honestly expecting the fucker to say 'just don't come to me'. "You can talk to me and I'll listen, but I'm probably not gonna have anything to say after you're finished."

Well. Looks like I've underestimated him. "Thanks, that's kinda what I really need," I mumble and pat him on the shoulder as he stands up, gathering the cans of beer that he brought for both of us, and then I ended up drinking all of it. "Hey, Seth?" I call as he begins to walk out of the living room; he turns around, carrying the cans like a baby, his eyebrows raised at me.

"Would you do the same thing if you were me?" I wanted to ask what he'd generally do if he was in my position, but since this isn't a field that he's exactly comfortable with, I thought I'd be more specific. Seth sighs, looking around, musing on the issue.

"Probably," He tells me in a light tone, nodding his head optimistically. "I mean... if she doesn't trust you enough to tell you her name, then... you shouldn't expect her to tell you other things about herself either."

I blink a couple of times, looking around as I think about his answer. "Yeah, but... you don't think I overreacted? I mean, it's just a name."

"Exactly," He says before I can continue. "If it's just a name, why didn't she tell you about it?"

I have a feeling that he's agreeing with me only because he feels like I need someone to agree with me; and if that's his reason, then he's 100% right. "That's a good answer. Thanks again."

"Are you gonna sleep there?" He asks this time, sounding slightly irritated as I pull my legs on the couch we'd been sitting on, and lay my head on the armrest. "'Cause I'm not getting you your pillow and blanket this time."

"Yes you are," I tell him casually, already dozing off. "You are because that's what I do every time you're drunk or high or just sleepy."

I've closed my eyes so I can't see his expression, but a few seconds after my statement I hear rustling near the door, indicating that he's walking out of the room. "Dickhead," I hear him mutter, and I smile; insults have always been a good thing, or a good sign in our friendship.

"Alright, raise your head," I hear Seth's voice a couple of minutes later, startling me a little since I've literally start dozing off. I do as he said, and smile lazily when I feel the cold material of my pillow under my head, followed by my navy blue blanket. "And I'm gonna leave bandages and some band-aids on the coffee table, in case you need any when you wake up... you sure your hand's fine?"

I look down at the back of my left hand, curling it in a fist and eventually wincing at the pain. I frown as I notice faint red stains on the bandage that's wrapped around it; how is it possible that the wound still opens, whenever I make the slightest movement? Even after two days?

To be fair, though, after I've punched the wall in the hallway of my building about 43 times, I needed the ambulance to save my hand. I'm lucky to have it only faintly bleeding. "Yeah, I'll live. Thanks Seth," I thank him for the third time, smiling contently for the first time in about 60 hours. "If you ever need help walking after alcohol or a girl you've insulted, you know who to call."