This morning when my eyes flitter open, I feel different, I feel content, relaxed, well rested. These aren't common morning emotions that I'm accustomed too. Most mornings I awake with a sore head, a dry mouth, an instant dread in the pit of my stomach because I know that I'll be faced with the fact that I have no direction for my life, my father thinks I'm a disappointment and I will go another day without understanding what I want.

But none of that looms over my head this morning as I wake up feeling completely at peace. Of course it's Christmas morning, but usually even that fact wouldn't have me feeling so euphoric.

My body seems to wake up a little slower than my eyes and I register the strong hands that are wrapped around my waist, the firm chest that's flush against my back, the warm breath that fans my hair with each soft snore.

Dylan stayed all night. He stayed because he knew I needed him and the fact that he'd actually done that for me, not that I'd ever doubt he would if I asked him, but it's still a big deal and I smile widely, knowing that I've got something with this boy that no one else will ever have.

I'm suddenly aware of a feeling that is very, very sobering. As I arch my back a little with a stretch and a yawn, an extremely firm bulge presses into my ass. I gasp and thrust my hips forward as gently as I can so that I don't startle him awake.

The fact that I'd just felt Dylan's morning glory pressed up against my back side should be horrifying. I should be utterly repulsed and slightly scarred. I should be grossed out and gagging with disgust. This is my best friend of ten years, shouldn't I be absolutely up in arms right now?!

So the fact that I'm not, the fact that my mind immediately turned to something more of a dirty thought than a horrified meltdown has me more confused and alarmed than I've ever been.. ever!

"Stop it!" I hiss to myself, feeling a little aroused as Dylan starts shuffling in his sleep, his little, or apparently not so little, junior grinding firmly against my butt.

In our entire ten years of multiple sleepovers and mornings together, this had never happened. Not once. I don't know why it's happening now, as if this holiday isn't torture enough already, now I'm having dirty thoughts about my best friend, not to mention the fact that he's engaged!

I close my eyes tightly, clenching my teeth together as I decide that this has to end right now. I quickly untangle myself from his arms and worm over to the edge of the bed, sitting up just as he starts to stir behind me.

"Hey," his groggy husky voice sounds adorable and I twist my neck slightly to look over my shoulder, watching as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Merry Christmas!"

"M-merry Christmas," I stutter as he sits up. Does he always look this cute?

Fuck. What the fuck.

"Uh, Charlie is probably gonna be pissed huh?" I laugh lightly, standing up and stretching my legs. I'd slept in my jeans last night and I can feel the imprints of the harsh fabric on my hips.

"You needed me," Dylan shrugs, throwing the covers back and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed before he stands up, mirroring my earlier stretch. "I'm just gonna use the bathroom quick."

He sluggishly saunters over to the ensuite and shuts the door behind him. I use this time to give myself an aggressive pep talk. I jog around to the other side of the bed and stand in front of the full length mirror, initially getting a fright from my disheveled state but then promptly laying a few slaps across my own face. "Stop thinking about your best friend like that you horny little thot. Get it together!"

The bathroom door swings open, the noise filling the other wise silent air causes me to jump. My hands fly up and I start combing my hair with my fingers, hoping it's not obvious that I was just slapping slutty thoughts from my own head.

"Hey do you mind if I have a quick shower?" Dylan asks, his thumb pointing over his shoulder, towards the ensuite. "I thought I could come with you to visit your Mom this morning?"

"Really?" I ask, a little bewildered that he's not in a hurry to get back to Charlie and the rest of his family. It is Christmas and I evilly take a little joy in the fact that his bitch of a fiancée is waking up alone this morning. "I mean, don't you need to— have breakfast with Charlie?"

"I sent her a message and asked her to go to Mom's. She'll be fine." He waves his hand dismissively as he avoids meeting my eyes. "I haven't seen your Mom in a while."

"Oh well, yeah," I absentmindedly tug at the ends of my mattered hair as I stare at the carpet. It's clear that he doesn't want me to spend the morning alone, with my mother who will no doubt, have no idea who I am. "That sounds great."

"Still got that drawer of my clothes in the bottom of your closet?" He laughs lightly at the fact that I'd stolen a bunch of his things a few years ago so that he always had a change of clothes when he slept over. Not that sleepovers happened very often these days, not since Charlie started having a say anyway.

I guess if I'm being totally honest and it was me in her position, I wouldn't be so thrilled about it either.

"Yeah of course. I dunno if any of them will be Christmas worthy attire though."

"As long as they're clean."

He sweeps over to the closet and pulls open the last drawer of the tall boy that's tucked away in the left corner. After he's pulled out an outfit he disappears into the ensuite and I realise that I've just been watching him like a brain dead half wit.

Deciding that I need a very cold shower and possibly a lobotomy, I walk out of the room and towards the main bathroom down the hallway. Maybe I can wash these sinful thoughts right down the drain.

"Ay Mireda!" Lucinda squeals when I collide with her dainty body in the bathroom door way. "Lo siento ms Bea!"

"Lucinda!" I exclaim, placing a hand over my rapidly beating heart. "Don't be sorry, it's fine!" I take a deep breath and smile. "But what are you doing here!?"

I glance her over, realising that she's wearing her uniform and carrying a pile of dirty laundry from the bathroom hamper.

"El señor want lavara!" She lifts her arms, her eyes darting furiously towards the clothes in her cradle. "Me wash!"

"Da— Mr Blake— asked you to do washing?" I ask slowly, making sure that I've understood her Spanish correctly. She nods her head, the lines on her forehead deepen as she furrows her brows.

"Nope!" I snatch the clothes out of her hands, her eyes widen as she tries to keep a firm hold on them. "Lucinda it's Christmas! Go home and be with your family! Uh... Ve a ... la familia!"

She gives me a skeptical look but drops her arms, letting me take the clothing from her. I am going to kill Dad. How could he ask her to do his fucking washing on Christmas Day? I give her a nudge and point to the end of the corridor.

"Seriously, go! Vete a casa!"

She smiles proudly, obviously admiring my small amount of Spanish knowledge. Of course this wasn't the first time I'd had to tell her to go home and see her family. I'd decided to pick up a few phrases when we'd had the odd miscommunication debacle here and there.

"Gracias Bea," she chirps, before disappearing from the corridor. I listen for the sound of the elevator and when I'm sure that she's safely away from any more housework, I enter the bathroom and dump the laundry back in the hamper. He's not even here so I don't see why he needs these fucking shirts washed so badly anyway.

It seems that Gods gift to me this Christmas is to make sure I'm as wound up on hormonal craze as I can possibly be, because when I'm showered and wrapped in a large robe, I walk back into my room and find Dylan picking up his phone from the nightstand in nothing but a towel, wet hair sending droplets down his defined torso. A picture of agonising perfection.

"Oh.. shit. I'm so sorry. I uh," I slap my hand across my eyes and flail about, feeling as ridiculous as I probably look.

"Bea, you've seen me in a towel before," Dylan speaks slowly and I can picture the adorably, confused expression that's no doubt plastered across his face. "Don't be weird. It's fine."

I realise that he's completely right. I've seen him in a towel a thousand times and it's never once, effected me the way it is now. I un cover my eyes and smile sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. I just.. um yeeeah." I rock back and forth on the heels of my feet, my hands clasped behind my back as I smile awkwardly.

Is this really all because of that one small action this morning. I felt his dick on my back and now all of a sudden I'm picturing him dropping that towel and throwing me on the be—

"Well I'm just gonna get dressed!" I point at the closet and dash towards it, plucking out the ensemble I'd put together yesterday morning.

"Is everything okay?" Dylan slowly asks as he shakes water droplets from his chocolate brown hair.

"Yes!" I quickly answer as I beeline towards the door. "I'm good. Uh.. hurry up and get dressed. We gotta go."

"Okay," he chuckles and shouts out as I disappear, "I won't be long!"

Things start to feel less awkward further into the morning. We get some breakfast from the McDonalds drive thru on the way to visiting Mom. It's not a typical Christmas breakfast and I know that whatever is being served at the Archer house hold will be delectable in comparison but I love hot cakes and Dylan knows it, so he orders me double and teases me when syrup ends up down my front.

I'd dressed in a velvet red long sleeve dress that hugs my upper body with a snug fit but flows out like a dancers skirt at the hips. I'd paired it with nude tights and black pumps so I'm glad that the syrup landed on my big winter coat instead of the velvet dress. Dylan is dressed somewhat more casually than I am in a pair of black jeans and a crumpled white dress shirt that could use an iron. It was the most formal outfit he could manage to scrounge out of the small pile of things in my closet.

Things seem to fall back into our usual vibe, for which I'm extremely grateful but I notice that Dylan's phone doesn't stop ringing, I'm sure it must be Charlie. He eventually switches it off and throws it into the backseat of the car with a bright, unwavering smile.

Just when I'd thought my mind was unscrambling itself.

"Hey," Dylan snaps me out of my thoughts as he leans across and grabs my hand, keeping one hand on the wheel. His concerned face darts between the road and myself. "Are you nervous? I'll be right there okay."

He'd mistaken my contorted features, assuming I was stressed out about seeing my Mom when in fact I'd been trying to digest and obliterate these weird fucking feelings that he's giving me. His fingers laced with mine isn't helping at all.

But now that he'd mentioned it, I am a little nervous to see Mom. It's been a few weeks and each visit becomes more draining than the previous. I felt like a hypocrite for chewing out Dad for his lack of visitation. I didn't come as often as I should, but sometimes I just couldn't bring myself to face her. It tore my heart apart to see the woman who'd raised me, loved me and cared for me until I was seventeen, not even recognise me anymore. It never changes, never gets better. It had gotten to the point where she didn't even know who she was anymore.

"Thanks for coming with me Dilly." I squeeze his hand as I inhale a deep breath. "You didn't have to spend your morning like this."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he smiles sincerely and steers the car into the parking lot of the grand private facility. "I'll always be here okay."

I stare at the modern building for a moment, gathering my thoughts as I squeeze Dylan's hand. There's no doubt that this one of the best private health care facilities in the country. It costs a lot of money to keep Mom here. It's run with top doctors, state of the art technology, the best utilities money can buy. But I can't help but see it as a prison. I'd seen it that way when Dad had first announced this is where Mom would live after hearing her diagnosis and the conviction had stuck with me.
She hadn't been as bad back then, but he'd wanted her gone immediately. He wasn't able to handle the outbursts or confusion that came with the debilitating illness.

"You ready Bea?" Dylan's voice startles me out my day dream and I finally release his hand, noticing the blood rushing back into his white finger tips.

"Yeah, lets go." I smile brightly, embracing a brave facade.

When we enter the building I greet the receptionist who recognises me immediately. How miserable having to work on Christmas Day. She buzzes us through the door to the right and we follow the wide, winding corridor, passing the odd doctor here and there as we go.

I'm always reminded when I'm here that this place is nothing like the facilities you watch in the movies or on television. There's no steel bars, there's no evil looking doctors walking around poisoning people, there's no eerie feelings as if the place is haunted.

It's warm here. The white walls are lined with tasteful art and photography. The dark grey floorboards are clean and shiny, the doctors all smile and wave kindly as you pass them. And seeing Mom's room in the past, I know that everyone here lives very comfortably with plush beds, televisions, wide (but very sturdy) windows that allow beautiful views of the perfectly landscaped estate.

I am grateful that Dad pays for her to stay in such a nice place. I suppose I should tell him that more often. Yet I stand by the fact that he should visit more often too. I suppose we both have a few things to work on.

Knowing that Mom will be in the commune lounge, we approach it quickly, slowing down as we get to the door way to search her out. There are quite a number of people packed into the large space today. Families visiting their loved ones for Christmas, exchanging gifts and snapping pictures. Someone's decorated the living space quite beautifully and I'm pleased to see how festive it looks.

"There!" Dylan leans over my shoulder and points to the far corner of the room where Mom is sitting, her back to us, staring at the tree as a nurse chats to her. God bless that nurse, she would have been all alone otherwise.

When the nurse who I recognise as Katie, notices our approach, she quickly stands and beelines towards us. Her permed, jet black locks bounce wildly as her bright blue eyes sparkle with a kindness that comes with years of caring for people who can't care for themselves.

"Hey how ya doing Hun?" She asks in that southern twang that I love so much. "Merry Christmas to the both of y'all."

"Merry Christmas Katie," I smile kindly as Dylan greets her politely as well.

"Look she's probably doing a little better than she was last time y'all were here. She seems to be having little moments of clarity. They're brief but hey it's something," her eyes dart between the two of us, her hands gesturing prominently as she speaks. "I dunno how long it'll last but go and make the most of it, yeah?"

Katie flashes a sweet smile before she darts away, no doubt to check on the rest of her patients. I take a deep breath, staring at the back of Mom's head. Her blonde locks are braided down her back, a bright red dressing gown covers her frail looking body.

Dylan places his hand on the small of my back, the action sending an electric static throughout my entire body.
When my eyes meet his, he lets me know that he's here for me, more than anyone has ever been before.

It's hard to believe that in this moment, with my sick mother sitting a few feet away, with everything that seems to plague my days, with all the multitude of problems that should be holding my attention... the most concerning thought that's pulling on the strings of my sanity seems to be the fact that I can't unlock my gaze from his.

And as his brows furrow together, his chocolate brown eyes piercing my soul, I wonder if maybe he can feel it too, can he feel the shift? He certainly looks confused about something.

Perhaps he's just confused about why I'm staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, as if my brain up and removed itself from my skull, instead of approaching my Mom.

That's definitely it.

I sigh loudly and move my attention to the floor, feeling embarrassed as I contemplate signing myself into the mental health ward. I'm clearly unwell.

Suddenly a warm hand wraps itself around my own and I inhale yet another deep breath. Deciding to take the gesture as support, I crush the butterflies in my tummy and force all infatuated thoughts to the back of my mind. I nod in determination and we walk towards my mother, unsure of what to expect or who we might get today.

"Hey Mom." I speak softly as we come around to stand in front of her arm chair. Her bright blue eyes slowly wander from the extravagant tree to meet my own hazel gaze.

"Bethany?"

~

Thank you to everyone who started reading this when I re posted it yesterday. It was so cool to see all of those familiar faces in my comment section. My biggest supporters. ILY all so much x