herself to wash them very well before returning them, and started the shower.
They said at the hospital she could wash herself now. They said she could get clean if she wanted to. It was so stupid, the phrasing, why wouldn't she want to wash away what had happened? She let the water run as hot as she could stand, as she scrubbed and scratched. But she still didn't feel clean. She was dirty on the inside and no amount of soap was going to change that. Knowing she was less than a second away from breaking down, and not wanting Elliot to worry or try to come get her, Gemma quickly rinsed and shut off the water. She grabbed her favorite towel and wiped the water away, wishing she could wipe the night away as well.
Hiccupping to avoid sobbing, she rehung the towel, deciding to just let her hair air-dry, and slipped into her own sleep clothes. As soon as the long-sleeved shirt was over her head, Gemma frowned. For a girl who wore tank tops and small shorts to sleep in, she was now covered from head-to-toe. The pants were her dad's, stolen when they were still in Austin and she couldn't understand wearing flannel in such a warm environment. Now she was grateful for them. And the shirt was Elliot’s, borrowed on a July day when hers became drenched during a downpour. She had already started liking him by then, and keeping his shirt, while it seemed ridiculous on the outside, she didn't want to let it go because it was his.
As she stepped into the hallway, she noticed Leighanna’s bedroom door was closed, a sign that her sister was now home.
After the door closed, Elliot began unbuttoning his dress shirt. The night was a bust in regards to Trisha. He didn't know how he could have been so stupid, so like every other teenaged boy. He'd always prided himself on being better than that. But instead, he let hormones and lack of brain function dictate nearly more than two months of his life, blinding him to reality and the people around him. As he pulled the drawer open, he saw the sweats lying neatly beside Gemma's t-shirts. There was a strange tickle running along his mind, at knowing his clothes were that close to hers. It didn't make sense, especially given the course of the night, but it was a pleasant feeling. Shedding the dress shirt and his undershirt, Elliot slipped the t-shirt over his head. There was the distinct smell of Gemma's laundry soap all over it, filling his nose and bringing him calm.
She was so important to him, and for two months, he'd treated her horribly, with his obsession. He felt tears prick at his eyes, his heart suddenly beating painfully in his chest. The way she looked tonight, the pain and absolute horror and fear written and radiating from all over her, how did she come back from this? How could he come back? Stray tears escaped as he tried to get his breathing under control. He needed to be strong when she came back in. And knowing that could be any moment, he quickly undid his belt, and pants, letting them fall to the floor before pulling the sweatpants out and over his legs.
Just as he was about to shut the drawer, a small folded piece of paper caught his attention. Normally, he wouldn't touch it, and living with a sister, he knew all too well the ramifications of invading a girl's privacy, but this one he couldn't resist. It had his name on it, after all. Pulling the paper out, he quickly looked toward the door and then unfolded the note.
Elliott,
This is so stupid. I feel so stupid. I should just tell you how I feel instead of writing it out. It's like we're in junior high or something. But every time I open my mouth to speak, the words don't know how to come out. I'm afraid of rejection, of humiliation, of you telling me you don't think of me "that way" and we're better off as friends. I know we're good friends, best friends, really, but I want more. I thought you were cute the moment you saved me my first day. I've even told you that a couple times. But you've brushed it off. That's
They said at the hospital she could wash herself now. They said she could get clean if she wanted to. It was so stupid, the phrasing, why wouldn't she want to wash away what had happened? She let the water run as hot as she could stand, as she scrubbed and scratched. But she still didn't feel clean. She was dirty on the inside and no amount of soap was going to change that. Knowing she was less than a second away from breaking down, and not wanting Elliot to worry or try to come get her, Gemma quickly rinsed and shut off the water. She grabbed her favorite towel and wiped the water away, wishing she could wipe the night away as well.
Hiccupping to avoid sobbing, she rehung the towel, deciding to just let her hair air-dry, and slipped into her own sleep clothes. As soon as the long-sleeved shirt was over her head, Gemma frowned. For a girl who wore tank tops and small shorts to sleep in, she was now covered from head-to-toe. The pants were her dad's, stolen when they were still in Austin and she couldn't understand wearing flannel in such a warm environment. Now she was grateful for them. And the shirt was Elliot’s, borrowed on a July day when hers became drenched during a downpour. She had already started liking him by then, and keeping his shirt, while it seemed ridiculous on the outside, she didn't want to let it go because it was his.
As she stepped into the hallway, she noticed Leighanna’s bedroom door was closed, a sign that her sister was now home.
After the door closed, Elliot began unbuttoning his dress shirt. The night was a bust in regards to Trisha. He didn't know how he could have been so stupid, so like every other teenaged boy. He'd always prided himself on being better than that. But instead, he let hormones and lack of brain function dictate nearly more than two months of his life, blinding him to reality and the people around him. As he pulled the drawer open, he saw the sweats lying neatly beside Gemma's t-shirts. There was a strange tickle running along his mind, at knowing his clothes were that close to hers. It didn't make sense, especially given the course of the night, but it was a pleasant feeling. Shedding the dress shirt and his undershirt, Elliot slipped the t-shirt over his head. There was the distinct smell of Gemma's laundry soap all over it, filling his nose and bringing him calm.
She was so important to him, and for two months, he'd treated her horribly, with his obsession. He felt tears prick at his eyes, his heart suddenly beating painfully in his chest. The way she looked tonight, the pain and absolute horror and fear written and radiating from all over her, how did she come back from this? How could he come back? Stray tears escaped as he tried to get his breathing under control. He needed to be strong when she came back in. And knowing that could be any moment, he quickly undid his belt, and pants, letting them fall to the floor before pulling the sweatpants out and over his legs.
Just as he was about to shut the drawer, a small folded piece of paper caught his attention. Normally, he wouldn't touch it, and living with a sister, he knew all too well the ramifications of invading a girl's privacy, but this one he couldn't resist. It had his name on it, after all. Pulling the paper out, he quickly looked toward the door and then unfolded the note.
Elliott,
This is so stupid. I feel so stupid. I should just tell you how I feel instead of writing it out. It's like we're in junior high or something. But every time I open my mouth to speak, the words don't know how to come out. I'm afraid of rejection, of humiliation, of you telling me you don't think of me "that way" and we're better off as friends. I know we're good friends, best friends, really, but I want more. I thought you were cute the moment you saved me my first day. I've even told you that a couple times. But you've brushed it off. That's
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