Stir Me (Rouse Me 2)

"Do you have to go tonight?" she asks.

She hugs herself. Her body curls inward. It's locking me out. Alyssa needs me too. I can't leave her alone. Not with her show premiering. Not even for a few days.

My chest is heavy and my throat is tight. "What if she's alone when she wakes up?"

"Please, Luke..." She looks back to me a moment. Her eyes are red already. Wet. But she chokes back a tear. "Don't pretend this is just about what she needs."

"What does that mean?"

"If you want to go to her, fine. She's your friend and you're obsessed with your weird relationship, and somehow, I'm okay with it. I trust you. But don't pretend it's about what Samantha needs. It's about what you need. You need her to need you, to be the only person who matters to her."

"It's not," I say. "It's not like that at all."

"Not at all?"

"She needs me."

A tear rolls down her cheek. "Yeah, and you fucking love that she needs you, don't you?"

How can Alyssa say that? I thought she understood. Samantha is my friend. Yeah, it feels good to be there for her. It feels good when she needs me. It feels good to be the person who brings a smile to her face. But that's normal. That's friendship. Friends help each other.

It has nothing to do with Alyssa. I still love Alyssa more than anything. I still want to hear her voice every night and see her face every morning.

"Forget it," she says. "It's not the time to talk about that."

"It's never the time to talk about anything with you."

"Then start. Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me why you need to rush to see your ex--the ex who cheated on you, who left you, who made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with you."

"She just tried to kill herself. It's not exactly the time to hold her indiscretions against her."

"Do you even want to be there?" she asks.

"It doesn't matter what I want. She's my friend. I have to help her."

"And what if I had to flee to a suicidal Ryan's side?"

"That's not a fair comparison," I say.

"Why not?"

"Samantha and I are friends. We have a history."

"Fuck your history," she says. She uncurls her body and pushes herself up. "I've known Ryan since I was fourteen. I have fucking history. If I'm not allowed to be his friend, or even talk to him without you getting jealous, then you're not running off to your suicidal ex in the middle of the night."

"Do you even want to be friends with Ryan?"

"Maybe... he was an important person to me."

"But he's an asshole."

She sighs, picks her top off the floor, and pulls it over her head.

"You can come with me," I say.

"You're kidding, right?"

"It would be awkward, but..."