Forget me lots (Completed)

17. River 🐝

Once alone in my bedroom, I pick up my phone and dial her number four times before I press the call button. The anticipation building amidst the ring tones before she picks up makes my stomach flip.

I imagine the chimes on the other end of the call. Will she be the one answering? What if her mother does? She wasn't very pleased with me. I want to bash into my brain for that. I know how important first impressions are, and me showing up with my motorbike to take her daughter out on a ride at night was detrimental to my hopes of being in her good graces.

I sit on my bed; I stand up and pace the room. The seconds before she picks up my heart is drumming so loud I fear the consequences. I've avoided my meds for weeks, can't focus if I take them. I can't jeopardize my time with Dawn. I drown my better judgment deep down into a pile of aftermath I eventually must deal with.

Not tonight, though.

Not right now.

"Hello?" Her voice washes away all my angst—the tension slipping away like magic. Without it, I can hardly stand up, so I plop onto my bed, my legs fidgety. There's this electric current, magnifying all my senses as I smile so broadly my face might split in half.

Dawn has this power over me, like invisible strings she pulls with one soft kiss, or the flutters of her long delicate lashes. She reigns freely over me and my weak heart.

"Hi," I say with a deep sigh I try to choke back, but it makes its way out, anyway.

She giggles at the other end of the line, and I'm tasting her once more, prodding her with my tongue in those endless kisses by Elsie's lake. I smell her hair. The wind was making it float all around us as I held her tight. I felt her breath getting shallow as my hands cupped her face. We've kissed so much our lips were a bit swollen, so I hugged her instead, feeling the softness of her breasts against my chest.

"What?" I ask because I've turned dumb with such memories, and it might get weird if I say nothing.

"I don't know," she says. "Hi."

"Is it bad I called you instead of texting, Dawn?" I love saying her name aloud.

"No. It's actually nice... different," she answers and I can sense she is smiling, somehow I know it.

"So...," she says.

"So, things we can't say face to face—go."

"I hate your friends," she says, and my heart shrinks remembering I used to be so judgmental and a prick like them too.

"Sorry," she says.

"No need, I can't stand them either. But I don't want to talk about them at all." I want to feel her near me, not pushing her away with dreaded memories of the endless times they bullied her.

"River?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you call me?" Her voice is weary, and I might have ruined the moment or she might have ruined it by talking about them. Maybe she wants to hang up. I don't know, this uncertainty, this vulnerability around her tightens my chest as my heart sinks.

"I couldn't wait to hear your voice. I know it's been a few hours since we last saw each other. Do you want me to hang up?" Please say no.

"No." Her voice is softer now. I realize I've been holding my breath and release it in a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Where are you now?" I picture her sprawled out on her bed, wishing I lay beside her, able to touch her, smell her hair.

"Like, where in the house?"