I get over the shock of it all." My phone is tucked between my ear and shoulder as I lean forward, grabbing my plate and empty cup from the coffee table. My stomach is in knots. I can't believe Ben would do this.
"Fuck that, Zee. I'm on my way."
“Jordan, I’m fine, really.”
“I’m coming to get you.” I struggle to hold the phone against my ear as I finish my sandwich quickly before tossing the dishes in the sink and patting my pockets for my car keys. What the hell did I do with my wallet?
“No, you’re not fine,” I say as my eyes fall on my keys and wallet tucked off to the side on the kitchen counter. “And I’m not leaving you alone anymore. My interview is over, I kept my promise. Now, pack a bag and be ready in ten minutes.”
Xia is pretty quiet during the ride back to my place and I don’t press her to talk. She looks devastated. Her curly hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, causing random spring-like tendrils to hang down from the back and sides. The oversized CHU hoodie she’s wearing is wrinkled, and her skin, usually rich like the color of honey, seems duller than usual. Her eyelids are swollen and puffy. I hate Ben at this moment, I hate him for hurting her this way.
I can tell she’s lost and I have no idea what to say, but I can imagine how she’s feeling. In her eyes, a person she loved ceased to exist, almost like a death, and I get how it feels to lose a parent. I know how close they are and I wish I could do something to help ease her pain.
“Does your mother know?” I ask as we walk up the few steps that lead to my apartment door.
“I don’t know,” she says as she slides her backpack on and pulls her hood over her head, reminding me that we both have a ton of studying to do to prep for finals next week. “He wants me to come over for dinner tomorrow night so we can ‘talk about this as a family’ or whatever.”
“Seriously?” I unlock the door and hold it open for her, feeling grateful that it’s quiet inside. Roman must still be upstairs with pink heels girl. The two of them get along great, but I doubt Xia would want anyone to see her like this. She steps in front of me and walks directly to the stairs.
“Yeah.” She huffs. “Like I really want to be there for that. I don’t even want to see him.”
I’m at a loss for words again as we climb the stairs slowly and I feel the urge to place a hand on her back, to help her until I remember she’s not weak, just sad. This inner turmoil is nothing new to me; I’m always fighting the urge to touch her. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late. I wonder if she notices. I wonder if she thinks I’m just a touchy-feely person, or if she sees it’s only with her.
We make it to my bedroom and she places her backpack on my desk and walks over to my bed. “You can sleep in here, I’ll take the couch,” I say, and I watch as she kicks off her shoes and lies down.
And this has always been my biggest struggle in being alone with her. I can deal with being in the car, I can pretty much deal with being in any room alone with her besides the bedroom. Especially my bedroom. Controlling my thoughts is so much more difficult. She's my best friend. My best friend who no doubt views me as an older brother, a shoulder to lean on, a guy to hang out with. She’d probably never talk to me again if she knew every single time I’ve seen her on my bed my brain short circuits. I forget I’m not supposed to want her. I become preoccupied with how her skin might taste, how soft her lips would feel, and how her moans would sound. Blocking those thoughts is impossible when I see her lying there on her back, her hair spread on my pillow. It’s an instant turn on and I start to feel like a teen again, playing scenarios in my head where she walks to me slowly, telling me she’s wanted this for a long time. I’d undress her, kiss her, savor