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Danielle sends her the photo around midnight, with the caption âNew choker! Like it? đâ
Itâs Thursday night, a school night. Eleanor is lying in bed, wearing sweatpants and her old ratty Take That t-shirt, while Danielle is out partying, looking like⌠like that. El wonders what kind of club puts red lights in their bathroom. Wonders what kind of people might go there and dance with Dani.
âIt looks fab đâ she sends back, the âitâ making it easier to use the heart-eyes emoji, because sheâs only in love with the choker, sheâs not in love with Dani, with the bra strap peeking out from under her cropped top, with her collarbones, with her open mouth.
She stares at that mouth for a long time, sitting in her bed in her stupid t-shirt and her too tight skin, biting on her lip till it stings, then biting it some more till itâs numb, till it canât crave touch anymore.
Sheâs not supposed to feel this way, she knows it. Sheâs not supposed to look at her (best?) friend and feel that stab of longing deep in her body.
Her phone pings with a new message from Dani, startling her. âPffff, only idiots around tonight. Wish you were here đâ
And she knows it means nothing and itâs just the way Danielle talks to everyone, sheâs seen her do it, but still her heart rate picks up like a fool, her brain lining up carefully curated imaginary shots of the both of them dancing together in a club, as if El has ever gone to a club, as if sheâd ever be bold enough to dance.
She needs to reply something, she knows, but replying to Danielle is always hard, because Eleanor doesnât want to sound lame, but on the other hand, she doesnât want Dani to think sheâs a poser, either. Pointing out that itâs a school night is out of the question, as is pretending sheâd have come, so El finally settles for a simple âWish YOU were here.â, hoping it doesnât make her sound too clingy.
âYou in bed? đ Kinky đâ
Thereâs a silly choked up sound, and it takes El a few seconds to realize it came from her throat. Cheeks heating up, she types back with shaking fingers, âHaha yeah im in my pjs itâs VERY glamâ and says a silent prayer for Dani not to push the subject.
Dani doesnât answer straight away, and El stares at her phone screen with dismay, wishing sheâd think before she talked, or wrote, whatever. Now Dani is bound to think sheâs either a pervert, or a loser, and Eleanor canât decide which is worse.
âStill sounds WAY more tempting than this place, trust me!â Danielle finally sends back, and El knows sheâs lying, because Daniâs entire philosophy is to party now and take a break when sheâs dead, thereâs no way sheâd ever be tempted to spend a night in with Eleanor, let alone in her bed.
âYou underestimate how fucking cute you are đâ
El has to put her phone down on her mattress and rub her palms against her sheets before she can reply, her hands are so sweaty.
This is nothing. This is nothing. This means nothing. She thinks it like a mantra, like a lifeline, even as her stomach coils and knots with nerves and longing, even as her body heats up with the rush of blood in her veins. She wants it to mean something so badly, is the thing, and the fact that it doesnât feels like a stab in the heart.
âAnd i bet you look like a treat in your pjs đđâ
âomg youâre totally drunk. Go party, I need to sleepâ El sends back, and the last thing she wants is for this conversation to end, for Dani to stop talking, but she also knows that if this is allowed to go on she will never, ever be able to convince herself that this isnât flirting, and she just canât set herself up for this heartache, she canât.
âBit drunk tru but still know your a treat. Sweet dreams đâ
El doesnât reply, and soon enough Danielle goes offline, probably going back to the dance floor, back to strangersâ hands on her hips and strangersâ eyes ogling her.Â
Safe in her room, El stares at that last kiss emoji the same way sheâd stared at Danielleâs open mouth, unconsciously biting on her lip again, before suddenly logging off, placing her phone face down on her bedside table and turning off the light.
She can still see Danielle in the dark, red as sin against the dark ceiling, lips parted like a promise. Youâre a treat, El hears in her head, as clearly as if sheâd actually heard Dani say the words, voice a bit slurred with alcohol, giggly with the thrill of partying. Maybe sheâd say it right against Elâs ear, to be heard above the din. Maybe sheâd brush her lips against Elâs cheek as she leaned away, leaving a sticky sweet stain behind, pink gloss and sugar crystals from the cocktails she loves so much.
âStop it,â El says out loud, unsettling the quiet in her room. Stop it right now, she thinks again, closing her eyes to ward off the images, in vain.
She tries to lie perfectly still, but the sheets rustle with the restless movement of her legs. She feels frantic with it, can feel the wetness building between her legs, but she reaches up instead, sticks both hands under her pillow, grabbing the fabric so tightly it hurts.
Danielle smiles at her on the curtain of her closed eyelids.
El squeezes her eyes till all she can see are stars and nebulas, but she still dreams of Danielle, of lips that taste like sugar, cheap alcohol and sweet laughter against her ear.
