The Dating Game

TWENTY-SIX

"Hello?" Chase's deep voice breathes into the phone, clearly exhausted. I try to ignore the pit of guilt brewing low in my stomach from waking him up; I know it's selfish, but I can't burden Isaac with this, and I really can't go through this alone right now.

"Chase," I whisper back. My voice trembles as I try to get my words out, doing everything in my power not to cry, "I, um— I need to talk to you."

"At one in the morning? Are you insane?" He asks. My stomach begins to physically hurt just thinking about how I'm ruining his sleep, and more importantly, his entire night.

"Please?" I beg now. A sniffle follows my plead against my better judgment.

There's a pause on the other end for just half a second too long. "Are you okay?"

My breath catches as soon as the words leave his mouth. Don't cry, Michelle. Not in front of Chase Matthews.

"You know where I live," Chase says suddenly, probably catching on when I couldn't give him an answer to his question. "I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just come to my room when you get here; don't worry about trying to be quiet."

"Thank you," I choke through the empty tears sitting at the edge of my waterlines. My voice comes out so quietly I can hardly hear it, which means Chase would be under the impression that I didn't respond at all. I'll have to express my gratitude to him for all of this at some point.

The tone at the end of the call plays when he hangs up and I take no time grabbing my keys before I leave my room. For a second, I'm terrified that I'm accidentally going to run into my parents in the kitchen, but as I step outside, they're gone. So, with one more deep breath, I walk out the front door, close it behind me, and lock it.

When I get into my car, I'm hit with a wave of unfamiliarity. I can't even remember the last time I drove it, especially since Isaac always drove me to school. And when he didn't, I walked. I'm surprised when I'm able to pull out of the driveway safely, despite my blurred vision and the dangerously loud music blasting in the speakers. The heat kicks on two minutes into the drive and I sink deeper into my seat, tempted to just pull over and cry to myself instead of visiting Chase. But the company is what I genuinely need right now.

The street lights and road signs pass by in a thin fog as I refamiliarize myself with the route to Chase's house. I try to prepare myself to talk to him—mentally writing a speech in my head as I cycle through all the different ways this conversation could go. My least favorite path is the one where Chase tells me he's too tired to talk and he'd rather make out as a distraction. I really hope he doesn't try that method, but I wouldn't put it fully past him.

As I get closer to his place, my heart rate starts to speed up. My chest heaves when I squeeze my eyes together, praying that I don't cry in front of this man. At this point, he's my only real friend anymore—at least, the only one within fifty miles—and the last thing I want is for him to view me as weak.

When I pull into his driveway, the outdoor light above his front door is shining brightly on the pavement. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts once more before I force myself to move my feet and walk inside. The rest of his house is completely dark, other than a small candle sitting on top of the coffee table, freshly lit. The aroma hasn't even kicked in yet.

I follow the hallway down to his bedroom door as my palms begin to sweat. My breathing gets heavier and as I inch closer to the doorknob, I slowly begin to realize I'm not holding it together as well as I wished I would.

As soon as I turn the knob and crack open the door silently, I spot Chase lying on his bed with a book in his hand and dainty black glasses resting on his nose. I allow myself to smile when I see him, basking in his soft, gentle state. But as I watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, the pit of guilt from earlier returns and I feel horrible for keeping him up. That thought spirals back to the whole reason I called in the first place, and suddenly I'm back to square one with tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.

"Michelle!" Chase whisper-yells in a panic when he finally notices me standing in the doorway. I can't stop crying as he shoots up from his bed, not even bothering to close his book first. My body refuses to move when he approaches me, so he grabs my arm and pulls me into his room, closing the door behind him before asking what's going on. So much for not letting him see me cry.

"Hey, hey; it's okay," Chase speaks again, his voice soft and calming. No matter how gentle he sounds, though, the tears keep crashing down and I can hardly speak.

"I— My mom," I try my best to explain, "It's—"

I'm interrupted by my own hyperventilating before Chase pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly. I continue to sob into his chest while he keeps one arm wrapped around me and the other stroking my hair tenderly.

"You're okay," he reassures me, "Take your time. Deep breaths, okay?"

I nod as best as I can and take a deep inhale, just as I was advised. I let it out once and then take another deep breath. Chase showers me with "that's it," and "there we go," as I take some more until I'm almost fully calmed down.

"My dad is an alcoholic," I start to explain, my voice still shaky despite my much calmer demeanor. I pull myself off of Chase, reminding myself to apologize later for the snot and tears on his shirt before I continue. "I, um, just found that out recently."

Chase nods with sincerity, not sparing a single glance at his ruined shirt.

"He gets really angry when he's drunk," I tell him. "He gets angry and then he gets violent. And it's— it's the third time—" A tear returns as it falls down my cheek and I can feel them coming back on. "He gets drunk and starts yelling at my mom. Right before he hits her."

Chase's eyes widen in sympathy and shock.

"And the first time it happened, he hit me too."

Suddenly, Chase engulfs me in another hug. It's a bit softer than the first one, but exactly what I need at this moment. I feel myself start to cry again, and instead of standing idly in his hug, I decide to wrap my arms around him as well.

"I just feel so stupid," I admit, burying my head into his chest again. "This is the third time and I keep standing by letting it happen to my mom instead of stepping in and helping her. The one time I tried, I got hurt too, and now it's like my body refuses to move whenever I think about helping her. It's so fucking pathetic. I feel so worthless."

His grip on me tightens. "Michelle, you are not worthless. Don't you dare let those words come out of your mouth again."

"Chase—"

"No," he says. "You are so brave and so strong and there is nobody on this earth more resilient than you. What you're going through is impossibly difficult and there's no right or wrong way to react. You should be proud of yourself for even trying to step in and help her once, even if it didn't work out."

I struggle to come up with a response as my crying slows down in his chest. His words hit harder than a truck and it finally comes to my attention that Chase may care more about me than I thought. Maybe this friendship we've formed is much closer than I've been thinking this whole time.

"Don't get me wrong," he says, "You're really annoying sometimes and you overthink way too much for your own good. But you're far from worthless."

Somehow, his teasing puts a smile on my face, even if just a small one. I shake my head before letting go of him and directing myself to his bean bag chair. He continues to stand, observing me while I take a seat and let out a giant yawn. After so much crying, and so many sleepless, stressful nights, the exhaustion is finally starting to hit, and I can feel myself immediately start to drift away as a small chuckle escapes my lips.

"What's so funny?" I hear Chase ask quietly, but my eyelids keep dragging down too much for me to come up with some silly lie.

"Nothing, I just told myself I wouldn't let you see me cry," I tell him honestly, too tired at this point to care what he thinks about it.

I hear him laugh this time—a short, empty chuckle—before he says something else. My brain is so fried that I can't comprehend it at all, but instead of asking him to repeat himself, I take the chance to get some rest. Chase's voice is the last thing I hear before drifting off to sleep.