Eden

 

Saturday was a complete bust. I spent most of the day in my room sleeping, only emerging for a granola bar when my stomach threatened to revolt if I didn’t feed it and to go to the bathroom. Mom and Dad left me alone for the most part and I ignored texts and calls from everyone but Dylan. He deserved that at the very least.

All I got from Marshall was radio silence.

It took until about eight o’clock Sunday evening for me to get sick of my room. I bundled up a blanket and a few pillows and made my way down to the rec room, making sure to stop in the kitchen for a diet soda and a bag of chips.

“I’m gonna go watch a movie or something downstairs,” I told my mom. She sat at the kitchen table in front of her laptop. Stacks of papers covered the entire surface as usual. I couldn’t remember the last time it was clear enough to actually eat a meal at.

“Okay, honey.” She didn’t even glance up.

Downstairs, I scrolled through Netflix for a solid half hour as I contemplated what the fallout would be from Marshall. Would he tell everyone what happened? Was my reputation ruined forever? I was beginning to realize I might not care what everyone thought about me, but the last thing I wanted was a bunch of attention if Marshall started spreading it around that I was easy. Because contrary to what happened on Friday night at Jared’s party, I wasn’t easy. At least, I wasn’t going to be ever again.

I needed a distraction, I couldn’t stop thinking about Marshall and the way his body-

How it made me feel so- powerless.

I settled on The Walking Dead. I was fifteen minutes into the first episode when I heard feet thundering on the stairs.

“What’s all this,” Dylan asked fighting a grin as his gaze took in the cocoon I’d made for myself, my hand filled with BBQ chips suspended halfway to my mouth.

Tossing the chips into my mouth, I blushed to the roots of my hair. Gah! What was he doing here? And why did I have to look like a hobo? “It’s called binge watching.”

“Yeah? What’s on,” he asked, picking up my feet from the end of the sofa and sitting down before setting them back down on his lap.

“The Walking Dead.”

Dylan’s gaze snapped to me. “You hate zombies, Ed.”

How did he know that? “How do you know that?”

“Seriously? Haven’t you ever noticed Josh and I never play Left 4 Dead around you?”

I snorted. “I wish Connor and Allie would show the same consideration.”

“What happened to One Tree Hill? I’m dying to know how it ends.” His whole body shuddered as he spoke the lie.

“Whatever, you big liar.” I pressed play to start the show up again. The main character was in some building and the lights were low and blinking. I pulled my blanket up by my face.

“Is this going to be scary,” I asked Dylan.

“Probably,” he replied taking the bag of chips out of my hand.

“Oh, gross.” I covered my eyes with my blanket. I didn’t even care that he’d taken my chips. I lost my appetite.

“Why are you watching this, you big chicken?” The music intensified as Dylan crunched on his snack. How could he eat after seeing that?

“Distraction. And I didn’t want to watch a romance.” At all. Like ever.

Dylan ate his chips in silence. Then he took the remote out of my hand. The music stopped, and I lowered the blanket from my face, glancing over at him. His full lips were pulled into a frown as he scrolled through the options of different shows to watch. He stopped on the comedy Parks & Recreation.

“What happened to your hands?” I picked up the one laying closest to me and examined his knuckles. They were covered in scrapes and cuts.

He pulled his hand out of my grasp and tucked it under a fold of the blanket.

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing.

“What did you do to them?” The other hand was just as scraped.

“This show’s funny.” He tossed the remote onto the coffee table and took a swig of my soda, ignoring my question.

“Dylan.”

“Ew. How can you drink that crap?” He made a face and set it back down. He wasn’t going to answer me.

Shrugging, I picked it up and took a sip. It didn’t really matter, I supposed. “No one said you had to drink my stuff, Dylan. Or even said you could.” I was probably going to miss this when he was gone. I stuffed that thought and those feelings down along with my insecurities about Marshall.

“These chips are making me thirsty,” was his only reply. Well, that and a wink.

I knew he was just trying to cheer me up. It was working. And I appreciated it. I handed him the water bottle I’d gotten for myself for after I finished my soda.

“You are the best ever.” He drained half the bottle in one gulp. I turned back to the show.

“Chris Pratt is still pretty hot in this show even though he’s not buff like he is now.” I was a huge Chris Pratt fan. That movie Passengers he did with JLaw was one of my favorites. But it was a romance and so I’ve boycotted it. For now.

“You like buff guys,” Dylan asked, flexing his biceps.

I giggled. “No, not really. Big muscles are overrated.” Not. But I couldn’t feed into his inflated ego- again. Leave it to a guy to turn a comment about another guy around to himself.

Dylan deflated beside me, pretending to be hurt. “It’s okay, Ed. I’ve always known I never had a chance with you anyway.”

Gasping, I lifted my eyes to meet his. They were filled with gentle teasing. He was trying to make me feel better. I slugged his shoulder.

“That’s right, you don’t.”