Because of You

Coffee Standards

I realize this chapter had been left out and it takes place after Salt and Rain. 

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I didn't know how long it took for the rain to stop. The shaking in my body turned from fear into cold, the last of the water pooling in the folds of Bellamy's jacket.

I looked across at him.

His dark hair clung to his forehead. Rainwater dripped down the tips and fell from his chin. Parts of his white t-shirt were plastered to his body and mud was caked on the soles of his shoes. He must've been freezing, but he sat stoically, balancing his forearms on his kneecaps.

He met my eyes and I waited for some kind of reprimand, because this was Bellamy. Surely he'd be angry.

But he only said, "Think we can get back in the car now?"

I nodded and hurriedly wiped my face, as pointless as it was. The rain had only washed away my tears and had left their own. I pulled his jacket off me and held it out to him but he ignored it, taking my hand and helping me up instead. His fingers were stiff. I was right; he was cold.

We trudged to the car in silence and I stood for a moment, concerned with getting the interior all wet. But Bellamy climbed inside without a second thought. Eventually I followed suit.

He turned on the engine and blasted the heat. It raised more goosebumps across my skin, chilling my already drenched clothes. I shivered uncontrollably, trying to think of something to say.

"Thanks," I said through chattering teeth.

Bellamy said nothing.

An awkward silence sat heavy between us the entire drive. I couldn't think of anything else to say to break it and soon gave up the attempt. Twenty minutes later, he was pulling up beside my house. He put the car in park.

I ground my teeth hesitantly, casting him discreet glances from between strands of waterlogged hair. The seat under him was equally soaked and I filed through a list of responses. The silence was maddening and I stated the first thing that came to mind.

"You're wet," I said stupidly.

Bellamy looked at me. "I've noticed."

I pointed with my thumb to my house, my mouth opening and closing as I searched for words. I honestly had no idea what would come out until I said, "I have towels."

"I'm fine."

"You could get sick."

"I'll manage."

I gnawed on my lip, exchanging looks between the front door and his damp figure. His jacket was still draped over my legs and the shirt material stuck to his skin, allowing me to see the grooves and valleys of his arms. Guilt mounted inside of me.

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you just going to sit here all day or do you actually plan on getting out anytime soon?"

I deliberated, picturing his face, devoid of anger. For once kind. He hadn't left me on the side of the road in my state. Was it really fair to send him home in his?

"C'mon," I said, before I could think better of it. I popped open the door and stuck a leg out. A cold puff of wind tickled me to the bone.

"What?"

I looked back over at him. "I don't want you to get sick. I told you I had towels, now c'mon."

He made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not"—