Chapter 13: 

The Night I Let Him In

Amara

I didn’t expect him to show up with flowers.

And to be fair, he didn’t.

He brought me a bag of Hot Fries and an AriZona canned drink.

Which, if you know me, is infinitely better.

“What is this? A bribe?” I asked as he stood outside my dorm room.

“Yes,” he said, holding out the bag. “For a second date.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who said this is a first date?”

“You did. By accepting.”

I took the chips and drink and placed them on my desk. “They better be extra hot.”

“Flaming.”

“And the drink?”

“AriZona Ginseng and Honey Green Tea. Your favorite.” He flashed a braces-filled smile.

I gave him a look. “I never told you my favorite.”

“You did,” he said, leaning back slightly. “You just don’t remember.”

I squinted at him. “You take notes or something?”

“Only when I want a second date.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Bold of you to still assume this is a date.”

He tilted his head. “Bold of you to stand there looking like a date.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

He stepped aside. “After you, Miss this-is-not-a-date.”

***

The walk to dinner was colder than last time and I didn’t bring a coat.

But I didn’t rush the walk. Neither did he.

He didn’t try to hold my hand.

But he walked close.

And somehow, that felt more intimate than touching.

Dinner was at the same restaurant from our group dinner with exposed brick walls and a faint mix of old 90s tracks playing in the background.

The hostess sat us at a small two-top table near the back, tucked by a window.

The lighting was soft, like candlelight without the candles.

He didn’t start with small talk.

“Why’d you hesitate?”

I blinked. “What?”

“To text me back.” 

I stared at my menu.

“Sorry. Too direct?”

“No, I just. . . ” I looked up. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“Mess what up?” he asked, voice soft.

“This.”

He nodded like he understood without needing all the messy in-between.

“You didn’t,” he said.

We sat across from each other at that tiny table, and for once, it felt like I wasn’t just reading the story. I was part of it, and we were writing it together, naturally, without rushing.

We talked. Like, really talked. Not just about classes or music or random campus gossip. He asked questions that made me think. He asked things that caught me off guard.

The kind of person I wanted to be when no one was looking.

Whether I believed in love at first sight.

The weirdest food combo I loved: Funyuns dipped in sour cream. Don’t judge me.

I told him no to love at first sight.

But maybe at second.

He laughed, and I liked the sound more than I wanted to admit.

I asked about childhood injuries.

He told me about the time he and David turned a fold-out table into a bike ramp after watching a BMX video on YouTube. The table collapsed the second Dorian hit it. He flew over the handlebars and cracked his chin open on the driveway. Said he needed five stitches and still has a tiny scar under his jaw. David nearly passed out at the sight of the blood.

I told him about building a pirate ship out of couch cushions and launching myself off the back of the couch like I was diving into the ocean. I missed the cushions I placed on the floor for my landing, sprained my wrist, and had to wear a brace for almost three weeks. My aunt banned all living room adventures after that.

He told me about his older sister, Nancy, who had graduated from Trinity just the year before, in 2015. Said she was the smart one who actually followed a plan, double majored in psych and sociology, and now worked with kids at a behavioral clinic back home.

“She’s basically everyone's favorite,” he joked, then pulled out his phone and showed me a photo of the two of them at her graduation. She was taller than I expected, with the same warm, dimpled smile, but she had big, chestnut brown eyes. He looked proud just holding the camera.

I smiled. “She seems cool.”

“She is.”

“You have any other siblings?”

“Nope. Just me and her.”

I nodded. “I’m an only child. Well. . . as far as I know.”

He glanced at me like he wanted to ask. But he didn’t.

And I didn’t offer more.

“You have a really nice smile,” he said instead.

I was caught off guard. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of my favorite things about you, so I thought you should know.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to smile harder.

“There it is again,” he teased, leaning back a little.

I rolled my eyes, reached over, and stole a fry off his plate.

He just smirked and slid the ketchup closer like he already knew it was coming.

I let him finish the last of my soda without saying a word.

I felt that was fair.

***

The dinner moved quicker than expected.

I didn’t realize it was just the first stop. 

We were headed to a house party.

I was nervous, but also excited.

My first real college party.

The November air had more bite to it now.

This time, he noticed me trying to shield myself from it.

He held out his hand. I took it. Then he pulled me in for a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist inside his bomber jacket and hugged him tightly.

I could smell his cologne on the hoodie under his coat. He felt so warm. 

Still hugging me, he leaned down. 

“Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”

His breath warmed my ear and neck, and a chill ran down my spine.

I only shrugged.

He took off his jacket and placed it around me.

“Here. You can wear it until we get to the party. It’s not far.”

I slipped my arms through the sleeves, letting the oversized jacket swallow me.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

But I was glad he did.

We made our way down the sidewalk. It was quiet.

No small talk. Just shy glances here and there.

I debated about grabbing his hand.

Eventually, I did.

His fingers interlaced with mine.

“You look really pretty tonight,” he said, gently tugging me closer.

I looked up at him. “Thank you,” I replied coyly.

That’s when I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

I didn’t fall.

But my taser flew out of my purse.

Still holding my hand, Dorian asked, “Are you alright. . . ”

His voice trailed off as he spotted what hit the ground.

Silence.

He looks at the taser, then at me.

I look at him, then at the taser.

I bent down, grabbed it, and shoved it back in my purse.

“Umm. . . My Aunt has me carry it. Just in case something happens.”

He let go of my hand, and my heart dropped. I held my breath, feeling like I could drop dead right there in that moment. 

"Oh, you were going to use the Taser on me?" He gives an obvious fake act of being offended, but ends up breaking character. I exhale in relief, and we both laugh together.

"I'm so embarrassed." Still laughing, I try to cover my face with my hands.

He moved my hands away gently. “Don’t be. Better safe than sorry.”

Then he gave me a teasing side-eye and shrugged.

“What you should be embarrassed about is that trip. First time I met you, you crashed straight into me at the mall. Now you’re out here tripping over air. You always this clumsy, or is it just around me?”

I rolled my eyes and playfully punched him in the stomach. “Oh, shut up. The sidewalk is messed up right there.”

“Righhhhht", He took my hand again, and we continued walking. As we walked, I moved a little closer to him and held onto his forearm with my free hand.

The butterflies I had were no longer from nerves.

They were from something else entirely. They were flutters of excitement. I relished the moment and decided that I was going to enjoy my time with him to the fullest.

***

The house was packed. It was warm inside, way warmer than it was outside. Between the music and all the people packed in dancing, it almost felt like summer.

I slipped off Dorian’s jacket and handed it back.

He kept hold of my hand as he guided us through the crowd.

We passed a couch where people passed around a bong.

“Which is scarier, aliens existing or galactic loneliness?” one of them asked the other.

To the right, a group of drunk girls clung to each other. One, clearly had way too much, cried and slurred, “I. . . I jus’ don’ know why he’d do that. . . he knows I’m. . . I’m sensitive. . .”

The others co-signed dramatically.

After stepping over a few legs, bumping past a few backs, and kicking empty red cups that are scattered on the floor, we make it to a screened-in back porch.

There was a beer pong game happening, and less noise than inside.

“You want a drink?” Dorian asked.

“Sure.”

“What you want? I’ll grab it.”

"How 'bout a so—" I started to ask for a soda, but looking around and being there with him, I felt gutsy. "A shot?" I said, unsure.

Dorian gave me a half-grin and raised his eyebrows. "You want a shot?"

"Yeah," I said again, this time with a little more confidence.

"A shot it is, then."

He walked over to a guy near the table. The guy got excited and ran into the kitchen, returning with a giant bottle of Skyy Vodka and plastic shot glasses.

“Aye, we doing shots!” he yelled.

Everyone gathered around.

Glasses were filled, tapped on the table, and lifted in quick toasts.

Dorian and I joined in.

The vodka burned. I shivered and made a face.

Dorian laughed. “Hold on.”

He grabbed a canned Pepsi and popped it open.

"It's not so bad with a chaser."

I sipped it slowly. I could feel the taste of the liquor easing off my tongue and the warm sensation from the shot settling in.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do one more.”

“You want another?”

The guy overheard and shouted, “Another one!” in a perfect DJ Khaled voice.

The second shot hit warmer.

I started to feel warm and giddy. Riding the high of the buzz, I grabbed Dorian’s arm and tugged him back inside.

“Let’s go dance!”

I made my way through the doorway, practically dragging him behind me. On the way in, we passed someone by the kitchen counter pre-filling plastic cups with jungle juice. I snatched one without stopping.

In the living room, the music was loud, with newer songs mixed in alongside a few throwbacks. “Shake” by Pitbull and the Ying Yang Twins came on, and the bass thumped straight through me.

I took a sip and felt like I was floating. Like, there was no one else here but Dorian and me.

I grabbed one of his hands and lifted it above my head, spinning around until my back pressed against him. I started moving to the beat, letting the music carry me, sipping on my drink in the process.

He gently took the cup from my hand, just as I’d nearly finished it.

He leaned in close.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

He set the cup on the fireplace mantel.

We danced, and we laughed, and we danced some more. A drunk girl stumbled into me, giggled, and slurred, “You’re sooo. . . prettyyy,” then twirled away.

The song changed to “Persian Rugs” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. The tempo slowed down, and the crowd began to calm. Some danced alone, others paired up.

Dorian moved behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, and we started swaying in sync, moving with the beat.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. His mouth was right beside my ear.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the side, giving him full access to my neck.

He slipped his fingers under my collar, tracing lightly along my skin. Then he leaned in and kissed me just behind my ear, then lower.

I leaned back against him.

His hand reached around and tilted my chin up. I didn’t open my eyes, but I felt his thumb graze across my lips. His breathing grew heavier.

The next thing I knew, he spun me around. One hand stayed firm on my waist, the other held my chin. I opened my eyes just as he leaned in and kissed me, soft at first, with the slow slip of tongue. My eyes fluttered closed again. The way his tongue met mine sent a pulse through me. I felt a rush in places I’d never felt it before.

It was careful, but deep. I could tell he was holding back, and I didn’t want him to.

I wanted more.

When I opened my eyes again, the room tilted. I stumbled a little.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Dorian asked.

"I'm. . . fineeeee. . ." I didn’t think I could sound any less convincing. The alcohol was definitely setting in now.

He grabbed my arms to steady me, then immediately started taking off his jacket and wrapping it around me again.

As he helped me into it, something across the room caught his attention.

His gaze shifted and focused.

I stood on my tiptoes, trying to follow his line of sight, but I was too dizzy and too short to see over the crowd.

His attention returned to me.

“Hey, do you know if Constanza had anything going on tonight?”

“She said she was just staying in to read. Why?”

“No reason.” A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

***

We made it back to campus, the night air feeling colder against my legs as the buzz in my body started turning into nausea. I’d been laughing just a second ago, but now the streetlights were a little too bright, and my stomach was starting to argue with me.

“I think I need to sit,” I whispered.

“You’re not sitting. You’re riding,” Dorian said, crouching in front of me.

“I can walk. . .”

“You’re not gonna make it,” he said without looking back. “Come on.”

I climbed on his back, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck.

He carried me past the quiet courtyard, through the residence hall entrance, and into the elevator, nodding politely at the desk assistant who didn’t say a word.

As the elevator doors closed, I whispered, “Thank you for not letting me embarrass myself out there.”

“It's alright. I was a lightweight with my first drink, too,” he said.

"This isn’t my first time drinking," I fibbed.

He didn’t look convinced. "Righhhtttttt," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look, just try not to throw up on me. I already feel bad."

"Don’t feel bad, I had fun," I said, trying to ease his guilt. Even though I’d had a little more than I could handle — maybe way more than I could handle — it was some of the most fun I’d ever had.

When we stepped out onto my floor, I fumbled for my keycard and almost dropped it. Twice. Dorian snatched it out of the air on the second try.

“Wow,” I joked, “Nice reflexes.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well. . . one of us has to be functioning right now.”

I giggled.

My room was near the end of the hall. I leaned into him as he helped guide me there. Once inside, I kicked the door shut behind us.

I had lucked out when it came to dorm assignments. My room was in one of the older halls with a few single-person units, and somehow, I got placed in one. It was smaller than most of the others on my floor, but I wasn’t complaining.

Dorian turned on the light and glanced around the room, taking it in. “Damn, a single? You lucked out.”

“I know,” I said proudly, then flopped dramatically onto my bed. “No complaints here.”

He laughed and moved toward me. “Alright, let’s get these shoes off.”

I tried to sit up, but the room tilted. He helped ease me back and unzipped my boots one by one.

“Okay, now lay back,” he said, gently guiding me toward my pillow.

I didn’t want to lay down. Laying down made the spins worse. I reached for him instead. “Stay with me.”

“You need ginger ale. I’ll run and—”

“Please,” I whispered. “Just until I fall asleep.”

He looked at me for a moment. Then sighed. “Just for a little while.” He climbed onto the bed carefully, lying on top of the covers. I pulled myself closer and pressed against his chest.

I felt him move my hair to the side and lightly stroke my cheek. His hand was warm and his touch was gentle.

My eyes were halfway closed when he asked, “Tell me something you don’t usually share.”

I opened my eyes. “Right now?”

He nodded, barely. “Yeah.”

I stared at the ceiling. I could’ve lied. Could’ve told him something small and harmless. But I didn’t. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing under my cheek.

“Okay. . . something I don’t usually share.”

He didn’t rush me.

When I finally spoke again, my voice was quiet. “My mom left when I was five and didn't say goodbye.”

He didn’t say anything.

I paused for a moment, but not because I didn’t remember, but because remembering hurt in a way that still made my chest tighten. The details were there, always were. But pulling them up. . . saying them out loud. . . felt different.

I swallowed and closed my eyes, letting the memory pull itself forward.

“I can remember the night so clearly. . . like it just happened. I got out of bed to use the bathroom and heard voices downstairs. Arguing. My grandfather, my aunt. . . and her; my mother.”

I felt Dorian’s fingers shift slightly against my arm, like he was listening with his whole body.

“My grandfather said something like, ‘You can’t just up and leave, Diana. All that running around isn’t good for that child.’ And she said. . . ‘I wasn’t planning to take her.’ Just like that. Like it was nothing.”

The lump in my throat started to rise, but I kept going.

“My aunt was furious. She said something about how my mom acted like having me ruined her life. I remember just standing there at the top of the stairs, trying not to breathe too loud.”

I shifted slightly, grounding myself in the feeling of Dorian’s chest beneath my cheek.

“My grandfather told them to quiet down before I woke up, then started up the stairs. I ran back to bed and pretended to be asleep. He came in, kissed my forehead. . . then went back down.”

I stared ahead, eyes unfocused.

“Not long after that, I heard a crash. Then shouting and more glass breaking. When I got up and peeked, my mom was on the floor with blood on her lip, and the end table was knocked over. My grandmother’s crystal figurines were scattered across the floor, broken.”

I felt my breath hitch slightly and tried to blink it away.

“My aunt had hit her. I didn’t see it, but I knew. Her fist was still clenched. She started tossing my mom’s bags outside. Called her out, said she wasn’t going to L.A. to model, just to chase some married man.”

I felt Dorian’s hand tighten just a little around my arm. Not in a rough way. Just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.

“My grandfather helped her up and told her she should go. He didn’t yell. He didn’t sound angry or anything. Just. . . done.”

I exhaled slowly, like the memory had been something trapped in my lungs.

“She kissed him on the cheek, cursed my aunt on the way out, and left. That was it. No hug. Nothing.”

I closed my eyes.

“I went and watched from my bedroom window as she packed her things into a taxi. . . then for a brief moment, she looked up towards my window. Right at me. I ducked away.”

There was a pause, and the room felt too quiet.

“When I looked out the window again, she was gone.”

“She said she was too young,” I told Dorian. “Said motherhood clipped her wings. Made her feel trapped.” I closed my eyes. “I guess I was her cage.”

Still, he didn’t rush in with a speech and didn’t try to fix it.

He just held me.

So I kept going. 

“I think when someone leaves you like that, it doesn’t just break you. It trains you. Makes you think love is temporary. That people only stay until you make them feel stuck.” 

I felt his fingers slide gently through my curls.

Still no words.

“I don’t tell people that,” I whispered. “Because if I do. . . I’m afraid they’ll start treating me like I’m breakable.”

“You’re not,” he finally said. “But you are worth protecting.”

I didn’t say anything else after that.

I just continued to lie there on his chest with my eyes closed. For some odd reason, I felt better. And for some reason, the weight I’d been carrying didn’t feel as heavy anymore.” 

I eventually fell asleep.

But he didn’t leave.

When I woke up sometime later, his arm was still around me.

His breathing was slow and even.

I looked at him in the glow from the moonlight that crept through my window. Then closed my eyes again and tucked myself deeper into the crook of his body.

Because that night, it wasn’t just my room I let him into. It was the part of me no one else had ever tried to reach.