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Danielle sends her the photo around midnight, with the caption “New choker! Like it? 💋”
It’s 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.
“It looks fab 😍” she sends back, the “it” making it easier to use the heart-eyes emoji, because she’s only in love with the choker, she’s 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 it’s numb, till it can’t crave touch anymore.
She’s not supposed to feel this way, she knows it. She’s 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. “Pffff, only idiots around tonight. Wish you were here 😘”
And she knows it means nothing and it’s just the way Danielle talks to everyone, she’s 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 she’d ever be bold enough to dance.
She needs to reply something, she knows, but replying to Danielle is always hard, because Eleanor doesn’t want to sound lame, but on the other hand, she doesn’t want Dani to think she’s a poser, either. Pointing out that it’s a school night is out of the question, as is pretending she’d have come, so El finally settles for a simple “Wish YOU were here.”, hoping it doesn’t make her sound too clingy.
There’s 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, “Haha yeah im in my pjs it’s VERY glam” and says a silent prayer for Dani not to push the subject.
Dani doesn’t answer straight away, and El stares at her phone screen with dismay, wishing she’d think before she talked, or wrote, whatever. Now Dani is bound to think she’s either a pervert, or a loser, and Eleanor can’t decide which is worse.
“Still sounds WAY more tempting than this place, trust me!” Danielle finally sends back, and El knows she’s lying, because Dani’s entire philosophy is to party now and take a break when she’s dead, there’s no way she’d ever be tempted to spend a night in with Eleanor, let alone in her bed.
“You underestimate how fucking cute you are 😛”
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 doesn’t feels like a stab in the heart.
“And i bet you look like a treat in your pjs 🍑👌”
“omg you’re totally drunk. Go party, I need to sleep” 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 isn’t flirting, and she just can’t set herself up for this heartache, she can’t.
“Bit drunk tru but still know your a treat. Sweet dreams 💋”
El doesn’t reply, and soon enough Danielle goes offline, probably going back to the dance floor, back to strangers’ hands on her hips and strangers’ eyes ogling her.
Safe in her room, El stares at that last kiss emoji the same way she’d stared at Danielle’s 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. You’re a treat, El hears in her head, as clearly as if she’d actually heard Dani say the words, voice a bit slurred with alcohol, giggly with the thrill of partying. Maybe she’d say it right against El’s ear, to be heard above the din. Maybe she’d brush her lips against El’s cheek as she leaned away, leaving a sticky sweet stain behind, pink gloss and sugar crystals from the cocktails she loves so much.
“Stop it,” 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.
