I walk into our room a few days later, letting the door shut with a thud behind me. My eyes land directly on my bed, waiting to accept me in it with a loving embrace. I glance over towards Alyssa's bed as I crawl into mine. She is lying on her stomach facing her laptop, Greys Anatomy blasting through the speakers. So loud that Meredith's cry could be heard in space. She doesn't make a move to turn it down, or put headphones in, leaving me to squint in her direction trying my best to cause pain solely with a gaze. It must work because less than a minute later she hits pause.

"Ew, how long have you been staring at me like that?" she shrieks.

"Long enough for you to get the hint," I say, pointing to the frozen image of McSteamy's or McDreamy's face. I can't tell the difference, and don't dare broach the topic with Alyssa who will insist I watch it with her. I would never betray my CW dramas like that.

"Can I watch my show in peace?"

"You do know you can't provide sound medical advice no matter how many hours you clock that show, right?"Alyssa throws her pillow at me, but I manage to catch it and toss it back at her with one swift movement.

"I don't even want to be a doctor. And now you look like you want something...So what's up?" she says, closing her laptop with a click before turning her body towards me. This is a classic Alyssa signal I have picked up on. It means that I have no chance of getting out of this conversation or drifting peacefully into a nap anytime soon. Instead I sit up in my bed with my back against the wall. The cold of the cement sends a shiver through my body. I pull my blanket over my head and around my shoulders like a cloak. She motions for me to talk to her, interlacing her fingers in her lap. Another sign, the one that means she's ready to listen.

"Fine," I exhale. "The new art exhibit opens at the museum today. I have an extra ticket if you want to come."

Each fall the local art museum curator creates a new exclusive gallery in a small space within the actual museum. This year it happens to be a Van Goh exhibit. I have no idea how a museum in Columbus, Ohio managed to land it, but they are the proud place holders of his most famous works for an extended run of six weeks. I've never actually seen A Starry Night in person. The one time my mom and I visited the MET when I was eight, it was once again on loan to another museum. My mom, however, had seen it and was mesmerized by Van Gogh's technique. Impasto, or applying the colors directly to the canvas before first mixing them together with his fingers instead of a brush. She used it frequently to create an uneven texture on her canvas. "The world isn't smooth so I can't paint it that way," she once told me.

Glorified finger painting is what my dad would call it anytime he walked into her home studio, especially if I was assisting her. He always felt I should be pouring my energy into something that would matter. As if me practicing my free throws on the rim outside or learning to kick a ball into a net would magically make me coordinated or interested in anything he could relate to. I was much better suited to help my mom blend her colors together on a canvas. No matter the result, the room would explode with giggles in the brightest shades of primary and secondary colors. All drowning out any doubt my dad tried to cast over the creation.

"No offense Ryn but I would rather eat McDonalds," Alyssa says. It's her version of my favorite saying, I would rather die. You know something is really undesirable if Alyssa would rather eat genetically modified foods. Even though she has no problem consuming copious amounts of alcohol, which I have tried to tell her is basically the same to her body. She quickly shuts me down every time though, quoting some naturalist that I have no interest in fact checking.

I wave her off, telling her to forget it and to go back to the McDoctors. I eye her until she puts her headphones in. I wait until I can confirm that the volume is perfectly contained within the plastic before sliding further down into my own bed.

It's not like I bought the ticket with hopes that she would say yes. I've been buying an extra ticket every single year since the accident. Gabi would typically tag along, no invitation needed. She's always been the perfect distraction from myself, and the thoughts that come with returning to a place that holds so many memories.

I'm startled awake by Alyssa's shrill voice yelling something about candles as she opens our door. If I wasn't fully conscious by her yelling, that quickly changes when Alyssa pulls my earbud out of my ear. I open my eyes to find her face an inch from mine.

"It's for you!" Alyssa says in a singsong voice.

"What's for me?" I groan.

She doesn't answer, instead points towards my desk.

My gaze follows her finger. The thing is a he, and he's sitting in my desk chair with his elbows on his knees, thumbs moving quickly across his phone screen. He must finish his message because a second later our eyes lock. He greets me with a hoarse hey and a smile. I reach over and pinch Alyssa who is still hovering in my personal space. She screams and grabs at the skin.

"Just making sure I'm not dreaming," I shrug.

"You're supposed to pinch yourself, not someone else!" She removes herself from the railing of my bed, climbing down and moving towards her own desk chair. She sits and faces Taylor and I. I roll my eyes at her, but she's too busy ogling at Taylor to notice.

"So are you going to share why you're here or are we supposed to guess?" I ask as I take my time climbing down from my bed. I don't bother to look at Taylor again, instead I busy myself with making a cup of coffee on the maker resting on top of our minifridge.

"Is she always a ray of sunshine when she's woken up?" Taylor poses the question to Alyssa who is a little too eager to answer.

"Morning, Afternoon, Night!" She chirps.

"The WestBoro Baptist Church has camped out on the corner of Woodruff and High Street again?" I say turning to face them again, cradling my mug in my hands. Taylor and Alyssa exchange a glance.

"Okay, uhm the State Senate just overturned the nineteenth amendment and the protest has started downtown and you want us to join you? How very feminist of you," I guess again.

Taylor mutters under his breath calling me a smartass, but the smirk on his mouth tells me he's caught on to my sarcasm.. Alyssa however furiously googles both incidents on her phone to find the truth in my statements.

"It was a joke Alyssa, Taylor is obviously here because I supply him with my Ritalin." I sit my mug down to readjust my blanket on my shoulders. Taylor quickly denies this before the rumor can get out, throwing a pen at me as he does. He further ruins my fun by giving a real answer, reminding me we agreed to work on his paper.

Out of the corner of my eye Alyssa is doing a poor job of trying to act like she is giving us space and isn't listening to our conversation by organizing her shoes, but her eyes keep darting over her shoulder every two seconds.

"Ooh, that's going to be tough because I don't remember an actual plan being established. You asked if I could help, I said yes, but the conversation ended there. And now I can't, sorry," I say as I move back towards my bed, but this time sitting on the futon beneath it. I reach next to me and find the remote to turn on the TV. Maybe if I just ignore him, he will leave. An internal wager tells me he won't last more than two minutes before his body forces him to leave. When you're used to getting someone's full attention without any effort you can't stand to be ignored.

Scratch that, guys like him never get ignored.

"What is more important than helping your star student, Capt.?" His attempt to be intrusive doesn't go unnoticed. Just like it never does when he inserts himself into my life. Maybe I should share my outlook calendar with him to avoid a future conversation like this. Just as I begin to tell him it's none of his damn business Alyssa's fake cleaning comes to an end.

"She's actually going to an art show," she responds.

I shout at her in warning. I thought we were making progress on the friends front, but was apparently mistaken. One step forward, ten steps back.

"Well, that's perfect. I have to do observation hours for my art class," Taylor says, now leaning back in the chair with his fingers laced behind his head. His legs are spread into a wide V and I bite my lip to fight the urge to kick him in the balls.

"Ooh, another tough one. It's sold out, has been for weeks. You'll have to catch the next one, sorry!" I take a sip of my coffee a little too quickly. I can feel a slow burn as it travels all the way into the pit of my stomach that began to form the second I saw Taylor here. It's enough to make me want to spit it back out, but I can't break my cool, not now. Instead, I suffer in silence.

"But you have an extra tick—" Alyssa begins, but she stops when the remote I've thrown connects with her head.

"I think it's time for you to take a shower. Say bye Alyssa!" I urge, waiting for her to grab her things and stalk out of the room. She huffs and rubs her head, but eventually makes her way out. I sigh in relief. Thank god. She was making this worse by the second.

"So, an extra ticket huh?" He has now moved the desk chair in front of the TV so I have no choice but to look at him. Taylor leans back again, but this time crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps are barely contained in the fabric of his gray t-shirt. I force another hard swallow of my coffee to torture myself for noticing. And another for appreciating the heavy slope of his muscle.

"I have no idea what Alyssa is talking about. You know, she went to a frat house last night and probably caught bacterial meningitis in the bathroom. They really should put a warning label on those types of things." I recognize I'm rambling, but I need to find an excuse to get him out of here or at the very least get the woodsy scent of his cologne out of my vicinity.

"I'll buy it from you. We don't have to go together or anything. Then we can work on my paper when you get back," Taylor offers. I pull out my phone and send him a venmo request for ten thousand dollars, in which he quickly declines and counter offers a measly twenty dollars. I had a feeling already, but it confirms that he has never been to an exhibit. A twenty would be scoffed at for even a donation.

"How do you know I will be back in time? The show could last all night. The artist wants to create a Night at the Museum aesthetic," I challenge.

"You're right, Quinn. So let's meet up somewhere after the show. We can make it somewhere close. And it's going to be so late that we might as well make sure it's somewhere that has food. I know you can't work on an empty stomach. I'll have my truck so I could just drive you back so you don't have to take the bus at night." I narrow my eyes at his rambling. He's up to something, but I can't quite place my finger on it. Taylor is having too much fun with this interaction to notice my weariness though, or he just doesn't care to comment.

"Let me get this straight. I say no and you suggest that we go out to dinner together? That is your solution? Let me guess your next move...You think we will accidentally bump into each other at the exhibit so we might as well go together?" I bring my coffee mug to my lips, this time taking the time to blow on the liquid before letting it enter my body. Although, I should let it burn me. It would give me an excuse to go to the hospital and escape this conversation.

"That is a great plan Quinn, I almost wish I had thought of it myself," He says with a smile as he stands up and stretches his arms above his head as if that conversation was an intense workout, leaving his muscles exhausted.

"I'll pick you up in a couple of hours!" he calls over his shoulder as the door slams shut behind him.

🏈🏈🏈

"Twenty thousand sure is a lot just to be alone," Taylor breaks the thirty minute silence that has lingered between us. I have to give it to him though. He is being a good sport about my not-so-subtle silent treatment. As much as I want it to be directly related to his presence, I know it's not. Not as we walk up and down each isle, from room to room. I answer his question in hopes that it will stop this internal struggle before it wins.

"Because I can," I say, childishly looking down at the map to avoid his eyes that I know are on me.

"There has to be a reason. If you wasted ninety dollars on a ticket just because you can, that's pretty stupid, Capt."

"Why do you care so much, Taylor? Isn't it enough that I let you come even though I made it clear I didn't want you to?" I could try to explain what's actually going on in my brain, but I give up before I even start. I exhale deeply as I take in the hand crafted Mayan nesting dolls in front of us. I study them, taking time to notice the similarities to the typical ones I've seen, but these are different. The chosen colors are bright and swirled together, creating an intricate flower pattern on the front like a dress for the dolls.

Taylor grunts beside me. I walk further away from him, but he is somehow still right next to me when I turn around."Who's the guy? Do you want me to kick his ass?" Taylor says, stepping in front of me until his large frame fills my entire line of vision. He connects his fist into his palm a few times. I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips at his offer to kick someone's ass for me, but it quickly fades. I shake my head and plop down on a bench a few steps away.

"I should have known violence would make you smile. Whoever he is, isn't worth it," he offers. I smile again but this time at the ground. I hate that he assumes all of my problems revolve around guys. If only it were as simple as being a scorned lover. Holding out hope with an invitation for some boy who held my heart and crushed it. This is different. I could survive being love sick.

Taylor takes a seat next to me. Just like so much when I'm around him, I don't need to see it to know it's happening. It's like my body is attuned to his location at all times. The way the bluejean of his knee brushes against the bare skin of mine only aids in concreting the idea as it sends a shiver down my spine. His proximity has the same electric response as always. Deep breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth, Ryn. I wish I could say I feel my muscles becoming more tense than ever from his touch, but they do the opposite. My shoulders draw themselves down doing an exhale of their own as the tension slowly fades away.

"It's not that. If I need an ass kicked, I can do it myself," I say softly. Taylor only nods in agreement.

"Twenty questions?" I offer. The game has become a safe way to share our truth's in a manner that doesn't feel as raw and vulnerable. A judgment free border like an invisible force field surrounds us within the confines of the game. Taylor nods again, but remains quiet and waits for my question to fill the space between us.

"Have you ever done something that at the time you thought was great, but now it's just ridiculous that you ever even considered it?" I ask. He pauses and looks over his right shoulder to make sure no one is around before answering. I uncross my legs only to recross them a moment later.

"When I was six I started secretly eating dog treats because they looked like cookies. I would hide them and eat one every night before bed." His silly admission is enough to immediately tug the corners of my mouth.

"So that's why you can run so fast," I murmur. He bumps his shoulder into mine playfully as he says, "I knew you watched my highlight videos."

We fall silent again. It's Taylor's turn to ask a question, and I already know what he's going to say. But I'm not going to speak it until I absolutely have to.

"Who is the ticket for, Camryn?" I feel further release at the way he says my full name. I grip the edge of the bench with my fingers in an attempt to steady myself. His body is now turned completely in my direction. I tilt my head just enough, resting my chin on my shoulder. I should be used to it by now, the way his eyes are always searching for mine, but each time his eye contact feels like a weapon and no amount of armor will protect me.

I instinctually close my eyes before answering. "Someone who I knew wouldn't come." It's partially my truth, but the kind of truth I'm not ready to divulge completely to Taylor no matter how much my body tries to convince me otherwise.

"So why'd you come? You aren't taking an art class and we aren't working on your paper. I find it hard to believe art shows are high on your interests list." I point out. Taylor begins to question me, but I stop him, "I have access to your schedule," I shrug.

"Consider this me cashing in my favor you owe me," he says, picking at a frayed piece of fabric on the edge of his denim jacket.

"This is hardly a favor considering you invited yourself. Rule number three Taylor, complete honesty." I throw the rule in his face even though I'm guilty of breaking every single one at some point in time.

It's Taylor's turn to exhale deeply before answering, "I can't travel with the team until I'm playing...and I knew you would be home." I fake play hurt by throwing a hand over my chest. How dare he insinuate that I don't have a life. I quickly recover with realization.

"Is that why you're here? Because you think I need a friend? Well I don't. I'm fine being on my own, I'm used to it," I say. I used to hate it. I would search for any way to constantly be surrounded by others. Any way to not slowly revert inside my own head, lost in the sea of my mind until the thoughts threatened to drown me. But now I want it. I want to be alone, and I want Taylor to disappear, or cease to exist so I can stop having these intrusive conversations.

"Maybe I needed a friend, Camryn. It's not always about you, you know?"

I hate the way he never uses my name, barely ever calling me Camryn. A few moments ago I was ready to wrap myself up in the silkiness of the way it sounded, but now it feels like I'm in trouble. Like it's something he reserved for only the most serious of situations.

"Why would you need a friend? You could walk anywhere in this town and find someone, definitely a female who wants your attention and would love to touch your penis," I spit the words out, the tone of my voice harsher than necessary.

Taylor stands, but doesn't walk away. He shoves his hands in his pocket and says, "It's not all about sex for me, but glad to know how you really see me. Find your own way home." Only then does he walk away without another look in my direction. I think I finally struck a chord, serving him right. Maybe now he can understand a little more what it's like to be around him, to have someone constantly pushing and prodding you for more.

Even if I did push him with that comment, I didn't think he would be the one storming out of this interaction. But maybe that's just the effect I have on people. That's what I do. I push and push until the spring breaks loose. I turn the knob over and over until the jack pops out of the box, only to find out I don't know how to put it back and I don't care to find out how to do it. My heart tells me I should go find him, apologize to him, but my feet remain frozen in place.

 Once again, I let my head choose its battles, even the ones I'm not sure I really care to win.