And She Lived Happily Ever After

It was the third day of my spring semester, Freshman year. I made my way to the College of Engineering alone and uncharacteristically early. When I got into the small classroom, I found an empty spot near the back. Not too close to the wall, but definitely not the middle.

The rest of the class slowly filed in while I pulled out my notebook, planner, and pencil.

A boy, gangly but cute, spotted me from across the room and made a beeline for me. Why he did it was a mystery with an answer that would never be clear to me. We made eye contact, and that was enough for him to decide that I would be his deskmate.

The first thing I noticed? He was wearing running shoes with jeans, and I thought it was ridiculous. Something about that combination just screamed teenager, especially when seen on a nineteen-year-old boy with a baby face. We were in college. Hello?

Regardless of his questionable sense of fashion, we became fast friends.

"I'm Dylan," he said after taking the open seat next to me.

I glanced at him and said, "Taylor."

"Do you know much about Chemistry?" He asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, "I took it in high school, but I'm not very good at it."

He smiled, what I assume was meant to be coyly, and said, "Great. We can struggle together then."

And struggle we did. Neither of us ended up being very good at the subject of college-grade Chemistry.

To make matters worse, neither of us was very good at paying attention during lectures. So, we crawled our way through every piece of homework and the entire length of each discussion session. Luckily for him, we weren't in the same lab group. Chemicals seriously freaked me out, and I washed my hands obsessively every other minute.

Very early on in our friendship, he made it clear to me that we would only be friends. I wasn't his type, so don't even think about it.

"Good," I told him. "I'm not interested in you either." While it had felt true yesterday, saying it now suddenly felt like a lie.

Regardless, it was a friendship that we would have, and what was just us working together on Chemistry quickly became meals together. Phone calls. Dorm visits.

What they forget to tell you is that it's really hard to be "just friends" with someone that you connect with. Especially when girls are groomed into thinking that any boy who shows an interest in them clearly wants something more than plutonomy.

"Do you want to go to the beach?" Dylan came knocking on my dormitory door at eleven o'clock one night. "We could really use a ride out there, and you look very sober."

I rolled my eyes, standing in the doorway with my arms crossed, "That's the only reason you want to hang out with me? So I can drive you and your drunk friends all the way down to the beach?" Before he could respond, I said, "Why are you going to the beach so late anyway?"

"First of all," he started, "No, that's not the only reason I want to hang out with you. We're going to have fun, and you could definitely use some of that."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off before I could, saying, "And secondly, we're going to have a beach fire. You do like beach fires, don't you?"

"Yes, I like beach fires."

I'd neither been to a beach fire nor had one. Nonetheless, I grabbed my keys and we walked to my car, parked in the student lot.

The night was beautiful. Clear. Warm. It was an easy drive down to the beach, even if it was far. I drove us until the road ended, as instructed. Then we all jumped out and made our way across the cool sand, the lake pushing big waves up onto the beach.

For a group of drunk guys, they got a fire going surprisingly fast. We spent the night laughing about whatever came to our minds to say. Since alcohol was a factor, most of what I said was met with group approval.

Soon, it was three in the morning, and everyone was getting tired. Everyone but Dylan.

When everyone was ready to leave, Dylan protested. Insisting that he was having too much fun lying around a beach fire with his friends. Plus, he was the one who managed to procure the ride, so it was up to him when it was time to go. It didn't matter to him that I was the one with the keys.

Unfortunately for him, I wasn't the only person on campus with a car.

One of the guys got ahold of someone who was still awake. So around four in the morning, it was just Dylan and I left on the beach with a dying fire.

He scooted closer to me. "It's chilly."

I looked down at him. He was leaning in the sand, quietly drinking from his bottle of dark rum, sulking that everyone had left.

"Mhmm," was the only response I would grant him, his shoulder now pressed up against mine.

I looked out at the dark water.

The way the beach jutted out into the lake and twisted, we had a perfect view of the city at night. It was a ways off, and its dark landscape reflected the glittering night sky above. In that moment, I knew it would be hard to compete with a view like that.

It was while gazing out at the view, trying to memorize its beauty, that I was pulled down into the sand. Into the arms of my very drunk friend.

"Is this okay?" He asked, sleep and alcohol finally beginning to drag him down.

I nodded. Even though it was confusing, I was not confused about whether it was okay.

"I just want to snuggle. It's cold. And this feels nice."

We lay there like that for a while. Looking out at the lake until the sky began to turn gray.

"We should probably head back to campus," I finally said.

His head nodded heavily against my shoulder.

On the way back, he said, "I'm glad that you came out with us tonight."

"Why?" I asked

He lolled his head over to look at me. "Because you hang out by yourself too much. You're going to get depressed, if you aren't already."

I glanced down at him. "And what makes you think that?"

"That's how I felt last semester."

I wasn't sure what to say. So, I just asked why.

"It was a bad semester."

That was all he offered, and I didn't push for more.

It would have been easy for things to be weird between us after that night, but somehow they weren't. Somehow, we were still friends who ate breakfast together and then pulled our hair out trying to study for our Chemistry final.

When the end of the semester came around, and we left for summer break, I thought it would be easy for things to finally fall out between us, as those kinds of things usually did. I went home expecting to Snapchat my best girlfriend and spend the next few months bored out of my mind and working.

What surprised me was how often Dylan still called me. He was drunk pretty much every time, but I would have been lying if I had said I wasn't happy to hear from him.

And when fall move-in finally came, things still weren't awkward. We'd gone three months without seeing each other and talking very regularly, but it was like the distance had never interfered.

"Come check out my new place."

I had barely gotten things moved into my own apartment when he called me.

"Right now?" I asked.

"Abso-fucking-lutely. Come over."

I looked around at all the shit I still had to do. And then I huffed into the receiver. "Fine. Text me your address."

I was hardly surprised when I got there and they were already drinking. I was less surprised at how easy it was to make my own drink and join them. He was living with a few guys from his dorm floor, who had also become my own friends the more we had hung out.

Night after night was spent drinking, having fun, and then sleeping together. No kissing, no sex, just cuddling in bed. Just not sleeping alone. Being alone was too hard. Being alone allowed for all the things we tried to shove down inside of us when we drank or had illegal beach fires.

"Let's do something else tonight," Dylan said while we sat around the living room after dinner.

"I think Julie is having a party at their house. We could go to that," his roommate, Adam, offered.

"Deal."

It was too low-key to call it a house party. Or it started out that way. It was just a few people upstairs, playing games and getting drunk. That escalated into beer pong in a dark, dank basement crowded with people, with all the lights turned off and a blacklight to make sure we could still see what we were doing.

The noise, the alcohol, the harsh purple tones, running away from my problems, something. A tightness in my chest started to make breathing uncomfortable. Everyone was laughing, asking if I was having a good time. But all I wanted to do was run away. Run and keep running.

"I need to get out of here," I said to Dylan and started walking back upstairs.

I was out on the porch, trying to get fresh air to move steadily into my lungs, when I realized he had followed me.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I shook my head. "I just feel very anxious."

He stood next to me, leaning against the porch railing. "How come?"

"I don't know."

Some people might've dug for more. Something must have caused the panic attack. Tell me what it is and I will make it go away.

Dylan didn't ask. He just nodded his head. "Come here," he told me.

I turned and stepped toward him. He pulled me into a hug and told me to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. "Square breathing helps me."

After doing that for a little while, he asked if I wanted to leave. When I said yes, he let the rest of our party know that we were out of there and they needed to find their own way home if they wanted to stay.

On the way back to his apartment, I asked, "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're basically dating, but you don't want to date me. What are we doing?"

He was quiet for a while. I could tell that he was thinking, so I sat back and waited for an answer. Eventually, he said, "That's just not what I want from you. We're friends."

"But I like you."

"Don't tell me that," He said back. "Don't tell me you like me. I can't ask the things I've been asking of you if you like me."

"Like what?"

"Like cuddling. Like coming over when I call. Going places with me. Getting drunk with me. How can I ask you to do all those things if it means something different to me than it does to you? I'll just feel like I'm using you."

The words stung, but the truth was what I wanted. And the truth was what I got.

"I still want to do all of those things even if you don't like me back," I told him. At the end of the day, he was still my friend. I would have rather been his friend than nothing at all. "I'll get over it."

He nodded. It was hesitant, but he must have been as desperate for my company as I was for his.

Things carried on as usual for the rest of the semester. I set my feelings aside and picked up the alcohol instead. I still yearned, sure, but the rejection began to feel less sharp and more like a dull ache.

"He's just using you," my roommate, Jasmine, said to me one night. "I don't understand why you keep letting him jerk you around."

"He just... sees me. Even if he doesn't like me the way I want him to. It's nice to have someone who understands."

She just shook her head.

"It's not perfect. I get that. But he's not using me."

Maybe he was. But maybe I was using him, too.

"I need you to help me with something," Dylan said to me one day. He blew into his room with nothing but confidence. Like this was just another conversation. But it wasn't. "I need you to help me with a girl."

"What girl?" I asked.

"Her name is Katy, and she's perfect."

"Oh?" I asked.

He lay down on his bed and nooded his face into his hands.

"How am I supposed to help?"

Dylan let his hands fall down to his sides and said, "I haven't dated anyone in a while, and I just need help. Do you have my back?"

"Of course I do," I reassured him.

He looked at me and smiled. "I knew I could count on you."

Then he got up, and I followed him into the kitchen. He poured two shots—one for me, one for him. We clinked glasses and took them.

Unlike most other nights, I didn't drink much. I took it easy and watched as he took down more and more of the bottle with the rest of his roommates until it was gone. After a few hours, I slipped away and lay down in his bed. Not long after, I heard him come in.

I felt him slide in next to me and pull me into his body. It was hot as usual. But instead of falling asleep, he turned me around and kissed me.

I kissed him back for a few seconds, but then pulled away and asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm afraid to do this with someone I don't know. It's been a long time."

"I don't know," I said hesitantly.

"I trust you," he said. "Please."

"You're drunk," I said.

"Hardly." He snorted. "Please, Taylor."

It was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. For multiple reasons, it was a terrible idea. But I couldn't help it. He asked, and I gave. It was all I knew how to do.

We slept together. Really slept together. And then fell asleep.

The next morning, we got up. This time, it was awkward. He tried to crack a joke, but all I could manage was a pity laugh.

On the way out the door, I asked, "Why did we do that?"

He couldn't meet my eyes. Pretending to look for his car, he said, "I'm nervous about trying to date another girl. She's interested in me. And I'm comfortable with you."

That was such a Dylan answer. Normally one that I would accept without thinking twice about it.

"So?"

A dumbfounded expression passed over his face. He looked at me. "So what?"

My pace slowed, but I kept walking forward, and he matched my pace, looking for his car again. "What does that even mean?"

Dylan turned his face to the sky, saying, "I just... I don't know how to explain it. Okay?"

I didn't say anything, but he looked at my face. My brows were scrunched because I was waiting for more.

When he realized I wasn't going to say anything else until I got it, he laughed an uncomfortable sort of laugh. Then said, "You're my best friend and—"

"And how is your new girlfriend going to feel knowing that you've had meaningless sex with your best friend?"

"It wasn't meaningless."

"Okay. One night stand. Whatever?"

Dylan was quiet.

"You're an idiot, you know that? A self-sabotaging, irredemable, blind idiot." In our entire friendship, he'd pissed me off many times, but I don't think I'd ever actually been angry at it. Not like I was in that moment.

Without noticing it, we'd reached his card. We stood face-to-face in front of the passenger door. I looked up into his face, and he looked down into mine.

"We would be such a mess."

"Probably." Embarrassment. Shame. All of them screamed at me to look away. To hide. But I refused and held his eye. "And now we get to be nothing."

He winced. "Don't say that..."

But it was the truth, wasn't it?

Dylan started to open the door, but I slammed it shut again. "Don't bother."

I turned on my heel. Putting my back to him and his stupid car and his bullshit. And I walked home.