A heavy vibration sounds from below my pillow and I stretch my arms out wide, my muscles feeling incredibly stiff from last night's experience. I never knew that good sex could make me feel more sore than a five-hour cheerleading practice session, but I can't complain.
I shift myself around in bed, letting out a small "ow" when the soreness from my center pierces all throughout the bottom half of my body.
Blake sleeps peacefully beside me, oblivious to the early hour. The sun coming in through his window looks as if it has just risen, and the vibration of a phone pulsating right next to my ear reminds me why I am the only one awake.
I search my hand beneath my pillow blindly, finding Blake's phone a second later. Yawning, I glance at the unknown number across the screen that's calling him, realizing it's not saved in his contacts and I don't recognize it either.
"B," I whisper, gently nudging his shoulder. "Someone is calling you."
Blake stirs slightly, his eyelashes fluttering open only for a moment before closing again.
"Then answer it," he rasps speedily, flipping around to get more comfortable and pulling the blankets back over him.
I frown as I motion to click the answer button and the call runs out of time just before I can.
Shrugging it off, I rise from our bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower again, given that neither of us ended up getting very clean after the one last night.
I smile as I open the shower door and see all my soaps scattered around the shelves in it, Blake not even bothering to buy his own body wash at this point. He knows I love the scent of his minty hair so he is always stocked on his peppermint shampoo, but both of us constantly walk around smelling like lavender.
My cheeks heat when I turn on the water and the harsh jet stream comes blasting down on the tile floor, the vivid memories of last night swirling in my mind making me want to drag Blake right back into the bathroom again.
After finishing up my shower, I wrap a fluffy towel around my body and another around my head. When I step into Blake's room, I am surprised to find him awake, sitting on the edge of our bed and texting rapidly on his phone.
"Good morning, do you want pancakes or-"
"Did you answer the call on my phone earlier?" he cuts me off, his voice short and emotionless.
I shake my head. "No, it ended before I could. Why?"
Blake visibly sighs with relief and there's an underlying unease in his demeanor and features, immediately telling me that he is hiding something.
"Just wondering. I think it was one of those scam calls, didn't want you giving away my credit card numbers or something," he attempts to joke, but his voice falls flat.
I can instantly see right through the fake half-smile on his face and his attempt at a relaxed expression simply based on the look in his eyes. The emotions flickering behind them are ones of undeniable sadnesses– longing even.
Before I can even ask Blake what is wrong, he throws his phone down on the mattress and suddenly rises from the bed, striding past me without another word. To further my confusion, he exits into the bathroom across the hallway and slams the door shut.
My heart sinks in my chest as I feel all the warmth in the room disappear from the lack of his presence and sudden exit. He didn't even attempt to playfully tug my towel off, something he usually does when I greet him in one.
"B?" I call out from behind the locked bathroom door.
Listening intently, I press my ear against the wooden door in hopes of a response, but all I hear is the sound of the shower water being turned on. I try to shake off his evident bad mood this morning, but I can't help the waves of insecurity that begin to wash over me.
Does he regret last night? Was it not good for him?
Trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling, I shiver as I remove my towel and begin to get dressed. I slip into a pair of leggings and a cozy sweater, making my way out of his room and toward the kitchen.
However, I freeze in my tracks as I hear the faint vibration of Blake's phone against the bed once again.
I turn around and slowly creep toward it, the screen facing up toward the ceiling. My heart skips a beat when I notice the incoming call is from the same exact number from only thirty minutes ago, and I make the split-second decision to answer it this time.
My clammy hands pick up the phone and I click the green answer button, placing it against my ear.
"Hello?" I speak into the phone.
I listen closely, the dead silence on the other end only amplifying the pounding of my heart in my ears. Five seconds pass by without a response, and just as I am about to say hello again, I hear the familiar sound of the caller hanging up.
My gaze then shifts to Blake's locked phone screen, and I notice over five new text notifications from the same number, undoubtedly all sent within the last ten minutes that Blake was in the shower.
Every nerve in my body urges me to unlock his phone with the passcode I know by heart to read the texts, but I quickly remind myself of the consequences that followed the last time I invaded his privacy.
I take a deep breath and put his phone right back where it was on the bed, deciding to simply ask him about the strange phone calls and texts when he gets out of the shower.
Despite not feeling very hungry, I make my way to the kitchen, pouring myself a small bowl of plain Cheerios. I eat in silence for the next 15 minutes waiting for Blake to come strolling with a hug from behind like he always does, but he never comes.
A pit begins to form in the bottom of my stomach, wondering why he hasn't come out for breakfast and what is wrong. Vivid imagines and scenarios begin to form in my anxiety-prone mind, thinking that somehow, maybe last night could've convinced Blake that he doesn't want to be with me anymore or something.
The unknown phone call coupled with his terrible mood only fuels my spiraling thoughts. What if it was from another girl and she hung up due to hearing my voice? Could it be from the same person he was checking his phone for in the car on the way to the football game?
Mentally cursing at myself for not biting the bullet and just looking at his texts from the number, I place my half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and head back to our room.
When I enter, I'm glad to see Blake casually sitting on the edge of his bed fully dressed, but shock and concern take over when I observe the items in his hands.
In one hand, he holds his phone, while the other grasps a small glass of whiskey. The half-full bottle it was poured from sits on his nightstand and a frown tugs at my lips. I observe as Blake texts rapidly on his phone with his thumb, seemingly lost in his thoughts and not even noticing me standing in front of him as he continuously takes a few sips of the dark whiskey from the glass.
Worry churns in my stomach knowing Blake hasn't been drinking nearly as much recently, let alone drinking on a random Monday morning an hour before class.
"B?" I call out weakly.
He flinches back at my voice and his gaze meets mine. I instantly feel panicked when I see what appears to be tears glistening in the corner of his eyes.
"What the hell is going-"
"I'm fine Elena," he interjects flatly, ripping away our eye contact to stare back down at his phone.
Shaking my head, I move closer, taking a seat next to him on the bed. "You don't look fine."
"Shouldn't you be in class or something?" he snaps, shifting away from me.
His coldness pierces through my heart like a sharp knife, thinking this is something I would never feel from him again, especially after last night.
"Do... do you want me to leave?" I sniffle, struggling to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes.
His gaze means mine again, the hardness in his features instantly softening when he looks at me. "No... I'm sorry. I don't want you to leave."
I nod and anticipate Blake continuing his sentence, expecting an explanation for his rude and strange behavior, but instead, he stays silent, only taking another sip of whiskey to empty his glass. As he reaches for the bottle on the nightstand to pour himself another drink, I quickly stand up and snatch it away from his grasp.
"What are you doing!?" he growls, scowling at me.
"You need to tell me what's going on right now," I say sternly, refusing to accept his attitude. The old Blake might've been able to treat the old Elena like this, but if the two of us have proven anything over the last three months, it's that we've grown into new people.
"I'm just having a bad day," he mutters, extending his arm for the bottle in my hands but I keep it out of his reach. "Aren't I allowed to have a bad day?!"
I place the bottle on his desk, standing in front of him to block his view from it. "Of course you can have a bad day, we all have them. But what you aren't allowed to do is shut me out and ignore me all morning when something is obviously bothering you, especially after what happened last night."
"What do you mean? Don't think for a second I regret anything from last night, it was absolutely absolutely perfect. Why would you be worried about that?" he asks, still not giving me an explanation and acting like his current behavior is nothing out of the ordinary.
I sigh in frustration. "I don't know, maybe because you look on the verge of tears and are drinking at 8 am on a Monday morning?"
Blake shakes his head, letting it fall to his chest. "I'm just in a shitty mood, okay?"
"Why?" I press, sitting down next to him on the bed again. "Who was calling you?"
"Jesus Elena, can't I have any privacy?" he grumbles, standing up from the bed to retrieve the bottle of whiskey again.
"Yes, but at the same time, you just told me you didn't want me to leave," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly. "Either way, you should be able to tell me what's upsetting you. I'm not going to force you to talk to me, but I thought you trusted me enough to communicate these types of things."
"I do trust you, I trust you more than anyone," he sighs, setting the bottle of whiskey back down after taking a swig. "It's just... today is a really hard day for me."
"But why? You know I'm here for you and you can talk to me about anything. I'm not going to push for every single tiny detail of what's bothering you, but at least give me something to go off of so I can stop worrying so much," I plead, hating the fact that he looks so sad right now and I don't know why.
I quickly glance down at my Apple watch to see it is the second Monday in November, wracking my mind to think about what could be so wrong with this particular day, but only drawing blanks.
"I'm sorry Sunshine, you're right, I don't want to shut you out," Blake sighs again, sitting back down on the bed and rubbing his eyes aggressively.
"You don't have to keep it all in," I reassure him, the lack of context behind his depressing mood making me seriously anxious as I rub his back.
Blake nods, taking a deep breath before he finally speaks. "Today uh... today is Bella's birthday."
My heart immediately sinks in my chest, having no idea what words were going to come out of his mouth, but definitely not expecting those ones. I feel a pang of guilt for being rude to him a few minutes ago, but at the same time, I know Blake will never heal from these types of things if he refuses to talk about his feelings and isn't pushed a little to do so.
The pieces slowly begin to fall into place in my mind. "Wait... today is November 11th... is that why you–"
"Why I wear the number #11 on my football jersey? And why a #11 is sewn into the sleeve of my hoodie that I care so much about? Yeah, that's why," Blake interjects, wiping what appears to be a small tear from the corner of one of his eyes.
He takes a shaky breath and continues. "Bella was born on 11/11/11, and she always thought it was the coolest thing in the world. It quickly became a lucky number for the both of us and for the past five years, whenever I've worn that number on the field and on my hoodie, I've always had a piece of her with me."
My heart aches, realizing that all this time, I had no idea why the number 11 held such significance for him. I always assumed it was just a number he liked or a random selection given to him when he joined Ohio State.
"I'm so sorry, B. Today must be really hard for you," I try to reassure him, struggling to find the right words. I've never been through such a loss as he experienced with Bella and I have no idea what to say.
"She would've been 11 years old today too," Blake chokes, his voice riddled with pain. "All because of me, my baby sister couldn't even reach the age of her favorite number."
I lean my body forward to wrap my arms around Blake, his body beginning to shake against me. His visible pain is raw and overwhelming, and I wish so badly there was something I could do to lift all this weight from his shoulders.
"I can't even imagine what you've been through and there is nothing I can say right now to convince you that it wasn't your fault and that you don't deserve to be constantly punished for this, but trust me when I say things will get better, and you will move past this."
"I don't deserve to move past it though!" he shouts. "My own father looked me in the eye for 6 months straight and told me every day how badly I ruined his life– how everything was my fault and he wished it was me!"
My own tears escape from my eyes as Blake lets all of his anger and sadness out into my shoulder, and I reassure him over and over that his father was wrong and that his words do not define him.
Suddenly, a thought shoots through my mind when I find myself thinking about the past couple of days of Blake being weird about his phone and constantly checking it.
"Was that your father calling you earlier?" I whisper, somehow already knowing I am right.
Blake's heavy breaths catch and he freezes against me for a moment, nodding into my shoulder a second later.
"He first sent me a message around two weeks ago, wanting to know how my senior year is going. He's been texting me more often but I haven't responded to him once, until this morning. I told him I didn't want to speak to him and to stop trying to contact me, but obviously, he was more hard-pressed for communication this morning due to the day today... everything has felt so amazing with you these last couple of weeks that I completely forgot about the date until I woke up and checked my phone..."
I feel a strange feeling swirl in my stomach thinking about how Blake's father was on the other line of the phone call when I picked it up. I've never had such a strong dislike for a person I've never met, and I'm confident that there are much worse details pertaining to their relationship that Blake has yet to reveal to me.
"You're not alone, B, I'm here for you," I murmur softly, my voice filled with empathy and support. I gently stroke his back, offering what little comfort I can in his grief. "Have you ever thought about maybe responding to your dad? Or maybe going back home to visit at some point? It's possible that he has changed, especially if it's been years since you last saw him."
Blake shakes his head, his expression filled with a mixture of disgust and defeat. "Even if I could go back, I simply don't belong there anymore. I belong here— I belong to you."
I nod, understanding and respecting the fact that Blake is not ready to face his father and might never be. The few details I know about their strained relationship, such as his father's attempt to press charges against Blake for the accident and all the blame he put on him before sending him away to Miami, tells me that it is much more complex than I think.
"What about your mom?" I question gently. "Has she tried reaching out to you? Have you seen her since coming to Miami?"
Blake raises his tear-stained face from my shoulder and sighs, shaking his head. "I think it's time I finally tell you a little bit more about my family, my mom in particular. She is the one who sewed the #11 into my hoodie, and after it was given to me she—"
Suddenly, both Blake and I flinch back in surprise at the sudden opening of his bedroom door.
Our heads whip over to the doorway, revealing a cheery-looking Noah and Olivia standing in it. They both enter the room, blissfully unaware of the heavy conversation that was taking place behind the door just seconds ago.
Reacting quickly, I do my best to casually stand up and place myself in front of Blake on the bed, giving him a chance to regain his composure and wipe the tears away from his flushed face without Olivia or Noah noticing.
"What are you guys doing here?" I ask, my mind spinning in light of everything that has happened this morning.
"What do you mean?" Noah asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "I pick you guys up for class almost every day at this time. We got worried when we knocked on the door and nobody answered, so we just came in."
I glance down at my phone to check the time and mentally curse at myself when I see that he is right. With Blake's bike being put away for the season and my car not being the best in the snow, Noah has been bringing us both to class or campus every day.
"Hello to you too Blake," Noah jokes, looking around my body to try and see him on the bed, given he hasn't acknowledged their presence at all.
"Hi Noah, hi Olivia," he mutters, shifting his body in bed to lie down facing away from him.
"What's his deal?" they whisper to me.
"He woke up pretty sick this morning, probably just a seasonal cold," I shrug, trying to keep my shaky voice sounding as confident as possible. "I think we're both gonna stay home today so I can take care of him."
Luckily, they buy my lie with ease, telling me they'll see me later for practice and to text them if Blake or I need anything. In an attempt to give Blake some privacy for a little bit, I walk the two of them out. Despite my protests and dramatic teeth chattering, Noah feels the need to show me the brand-new lift and tires on his truck for five minutes before I am able to finally get them to leave so I can return to Blake.
Shivering from the cold weather, I walk back into his warm house, anticipation fluttering within me while wondering what additional details Blake will tell me to explain more of his family dynamic. He has never really spoken to me about his mother except for the details from the day of the accident. I pretty much know nothing about the months after it, what the day looked like when Blake was sent to Miami, and just how far his father's blame went.
When I enter Blake's room, I find him lying on his side, his eyes closed with the empty glass of whiskey still clutched in his hand.
I approach him slowly, sitting down next to him on the bed. I hear his soft snores as he remains in a deep sleep, no doubt due to the half bottle of liquor he just consumed. I carefully take the glass out of his hand, setting it down on the table next to him.
A single tear falls from my eye as I gaze down at him on the bed, wondering how anyone could ever look this beautiful boy in the face and assign him blame for an accident that haunts him day and night.
I long to protect him from this harsh world, wishing I could make it so he never has to feel another drop of pain– wishing I could make him understand that it was not his fault.
But all I can do at this time is carefully slide myself behind him, spooning the back of his body against mine and wrapping my arm around him to hold him tight, knowing that nightmares will likely plague his sleep, given what day is today.
His tall frame makes it almost impossible for me to spoon him, so I inch up and rest my face in the crook of his head, placing a few soft kisses on his skin.
As if in response to my touch, Blake suddenly rolls over, still on his side but now facing me. In his half-asleep state, he drapes his arms around my body and pulls the front of me into his chest to close the gap between us. The soft beating of his heart against my ears brings a sense of calm, soothing most of the anxiety that has been swirling within me.
Despite feeling wide awake and barely able to breathe against his chest, I don't move a muscle, simply allowing him to hold me in his time of need.
As I lie there against him, I examine all the tattoos on his arm around me for the hundredth time, never getting sick of looking at all the intricate designs and clean line work.
I gaze down at the "B" carved into the crook of his left elbow with faded ink, remembering that the first time I noticed it when we were together in the empty football stadium, I immediately thought that it looked different than his other tattoos, almost like he did it himself.
It's strange to think back to those times now knowing that he absolutely did do the tattoo himself, and that "B" does not stand for Blake like I originally thought it did.
His t-shirt is slightly risen up on his left shoulder and I next observe the long vertical scar on his delicate skin—the only part of his arm untouched by random inked words and designs. I frown at the red and slightly raised mark, knowing that every time he looks down at it or in the mirror, it is a permanent reminder of his past.
I hope one day Blake finds the strength to cover it, but that is something he will need to do himself. When he realizes that he no longer has to be a prisoner to his past, that is when he will truly begin to heal.
And I will be with him every step of the way.
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sorry this came out so late, i got off my 8-hour work shift today and then immediately took a three hour nap right when i got home lmao.
already working on the next few chapters (i'm super excited for them!!) and the next update will be out couple of days. make sure you're following me on wattpad and have post notifications on so you know when the next one is coming!!
love ya'll sm.
- Jade <3