twisted » á. morata & p. dybala

seis // a shoulder to cry on

álvaro

"Come on, Alvi. It's just one night," Simone kept pushing me to accompany him to the club, but I didn't want to.

"You know I don't drink, Simo," I shook my head. I put my cleats back into my gym bag and started walking out of the locker room.

"You don't have to," to my dismay, Simone followed my footsteps and walked side by side with me.

I thought hard about it. I really didn't want to go clubbing because I hated it so much, but I wanted to be a good friend, so I agreed despite my unwillingness. "Fine. But I'm not going to do anything," I grumbled, finally giving up.

"Not even dancing?" He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, making me let out a small chuckle.

"No way," I shook my head in disgust to reassure him of how much I hated dancing, and he only laughed at me. Good 'ol Simo.

That night, I drove Simone and some of our friends to the club. Everyone said that I was the dad since I was the only one who had a driver's license and I didn't drink.

We went into the club, which was completely packed with people. Everyone was dancing and not paying attention to their surroundings, causing some elbows and palms flying to my face, but I quickly dodged all of them.

"Alright, don't get laid, alright? You'll regret it, trust me," Simone patted my back and left me all alone to sit by the bar.

I ordered a glass of fresh lemonade, which I didn't even know was served in a nightclub, and sat there with my phone in hand while listening to the deafening music.

I got bored soon enough. I didn't know how long I had to wait for Simone and the others to finish doing God knows what. I would've driven back home if I could, but I couldn't because I was their ride and I couldn't just leave them there. 

I was mentally cursing Simone when I saw a familiar figure brush past me. I decided to follow the figure purely out of an equal amount of boredom and curiosity. I kept following the person step by step, and I ended up at the back of the club. 

My guess was right. It was Isabella.

I hated her alright, but it just seemed suspicious and dangerous that she was meeting with a sketchy guy in an alleyway at the back of the club. I was worried, so I decided to snoop around for a little longer and hide behind a wall. I kept my eyes fixated on them, and I saw her exchanging something with the sketchy guy. 

Was she...? I pushed the thought aside even though it worried me. It seemed that they were finished with whatever business they had going on, and the guy walked away from the club. Isabella was heading back towards the back entrance of the club, but I stopped her and dragged her away to the big street.

"What the fuck, Morata?" She yelled at me and yanked my hand off of her arm. She was boiling with fury.

"What is that?" I pointed at the thing in her hand, ignoring her yelling.

"None of your damn business!" She put her hand inside her jacket pocket to conceal whatever that thing was.

"Are you buying drugs?" I asked her again, more seriously.

"I said it's none of your damn business," she scowled and hissed at me. "Why do you care anyway?" She turned on her heels to walk back to the club, but I grabbed her arm again to stop her.

"I don't, okay? Look, I know that you take pills and you smoke. I've seen you do those stuffs, and I never cared. But drugs?" I sighed heavily and exasperatedly. "Don't do it, Bella."

"Why should I listen to you?" She ran a hand through her light brown locks of hair, frustrated.

"Because I know everything about drugs, and they bring nothing but bad to you. They're really dangerous to play around with," I was getting frustrated as well.

"You don't even know the reason why I do these things, okay? You think I enjoy them? I dread them! But they're the only things that can help me," she kept yelling and people walking down the street stared at us.

"Well, you can try talking to a therapist, whatever your problems are," I suggested while glaring at people one by one so they would stop staring.

"Therapists are full of bullshits. What I need is a real person with real talk. I need to cry, I need to get angry, and I need a shoulder to cry on," the tears that were welling up in her eyes started streaming down her face.

"Just hand me the drugs," I held my hand out.

"Why the hell would I-"

"Just hand it over!" It was my turn to yell at her, and she finally handed me the drugs very reluctantly. "You can talk to Paulo if you need someone to talk to. He's genuinely a good guy, and I know that you two are growing close to each other," I simply suggested.

"Why do you always offer Paulo to me?" She yelled again, tears still streaming down her eyes in addition to her anger.

"Well, I would gladly offer myself, but we hate each other, remember?" I was careful not to yell back at her seeing as she was at a very fragile state.

"Paulo can't find out about this. He can't know about any of these. Please," she begged me, her voice getting smaller and weaker every passing word.

"Okay. I would never tell a secret that's not mine," I assured her.

We just stayed quiet for a while, soaking in the darkness of the skies and the silhouettes that the trees created on the street and on us. But then, she started sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Or... You can talk to me, since I already know your secrets anyway," I said reluctantly but softly, and I moved forward to hold her in my arms.

"I'm really tired, Álvaro. Of everything," she said in a choked voice in between sobs.

"I know, I know. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I said, still holding her in my arms. Without my mind's consent, my fingers stroke her hair comfortingly.

That's how I spent my Friday night. Holding a crying drunk girl in my arms, taking her back home and leaving my friends behind, and not to forget that I stopped her from consuming drugs. The only problem was, we were supposed to hate each other.