57 | In The Backseat

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LUNES
7:23 AM

Dahlia Gray

Harlow is sleeping soundly.

We spent last night with each other—nothing sexual—just taking in the moment together as our first act of purposeful intimacy.

I slip out of my shared bedroom with my mother and Claudia to head downstairs, meeting Harlow at the bottom of the steps. It felt like a symptom of teenage rebellion; sneaking off to see your boyfriend as the sun goes down and the lights were turned off, with the hyper-awareness to each creaking floorboards—but that wasn't the case. If it was, I would've brought a stolen bottle of Scotch to fulfill that fantasy.

Instead, it was me, high off the blissful estate that Harlow has officially surrendered our labelless relationship and asked me to be his girlfriend. Once I reached the end of the stairs, I fell into him, as he caught me, and we moved around the quiet living room, reaching the couch in a jumble of mess and laughs.

Spending the night trading tales of our testimonies—our time together.

No one told me being in love was so peaceful.

Morning peaks through the slits of the closed blinds, beaming a harsh ray over my closed eyes as I groggily stir awake, feeling the heat of large arms wrapped around my body firmly and the slight, subtle breathing of another human—my person—laying next to me.

I squint open my eyes, taking in the beam of the sun before seeing Harlow in front of me. Everything about him feels easy. The muscles in his face unwinds and the subtle crease of his jaw no longer holds a sharpening grip. Creases around his eyes brush away, and his lips pull into an ultimate flat—nostrils flaring steadily with no ulterior motive.

I stare at him for a couple more seconds, taking this all in, before I begin to lightly blow in his face. At first, he shakes his head, trying to disregard the sensation in his slumber, before he begins to peel open his eyes—brows immediately narrowing at the suspect.

Harlow looks down at me, and his features loosens on contact. An innocent grin makes its way to my lips, "morning," I greet, taking the opportunity to squirm a bit more in his hold.

He takes a second to respond. "Morning," Harlow returns, his morning voice husky and low, my eyes almost rolled back in pleasure. I contain myself, pretending the butterflies in my stomach didn't just erupt and kept my grin. "Did you blow in my face?"

I stiffen a laugh, nodding my head. "I know I probably have bad morning breath, but I didn't know how else to wake up."

"Probably try asking me to wake up?"

I tilt my head to the side, recognition dawns on me, "huh," I state unwittingly, "I didn't think of that."

A growing smile graces his face, and he pretends to shake his head in low disappointment to hide the expression. Harlow doesn't say anything for the next minute, his eyes set on my face, but his arms have yet to remove their grip around my waist.

"Hey, Harlow," I say, tapping my fingers on his biceps, "I don't know if you know this, but we have class in thirty minutes."

He stares at me, trying to decipher if I'm joking or not, and when he sees that I'm being completely serious, he tilts his head back in a tiresome sigh. "Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, with the same low voice, and I swear—if I don't get out right now, I will absolutely lose it.

Squirming in his hold, Harlow slowly begins to loosen his grip around my body and let me slip out. I almost fell off of the couch, but catching myself, I picked myself up and stood tall—extending my hand for Harlow.

He stares at my hand, before taking my offer, allowing me to pull himself upright. We pick ourselves off the couch where we slept (which isn't the best place for two) and head up to the second floor's bathroom, knowing our necessities are there.

I take my toothbrush out of the cup and wet it under the facet, squirting a line of toothpaste for me and Harlow.

We begin to brush our teeth in unison, staring at our reflection in the mirror, noticing the other. My wild hair is everywhere; frizzy and full of friction from our night together. My clothes are a product of wrinkles, and so was his. While Harlow holds the slight advantage of short hair—which made his hair look unruly and tousled—he isn't in his best state either.

I stare at my boyfriend through the looking glass, and he stares back at me, the toothpaste foaming in his mouth and a smile beginning to broad his lips, I couldn't stop myself from mimicking his same expression.

There was no joke, no punchline—nothing. It's just silence, saved for the sound of bristles rubbing against our teeth, yet I can't help stop myself. Laughter erupts from the back of my throat, watching Harlow, and he can't stop himself from following along. His smile brightening.

He steps closer, wrapping his arm around my waist and planting a warm hand against the small exposure of my flat stomach. I immediately sober, stiffening under his touch as his fingers braze against my skin, lighting me on fire. Maneuvering myself in his embrace, and stopping myself from playing around, I bend forward to spit out the remaining foam.

The entire time, my heart is thumping in my chest and heat surrounds my entire body. Is this how he feels with me?

We said nothing; rushing to finish the rest of our routine, heading to our respective bedrooms and changing into school-appropriate clothes. Once finished, we meet at the foyer, with Presley tapping his foot impatiently.

"Harlow," Presley greets his foster brother with a once-over, not slightly surprised by his dark overtone attire, before sparing a glance at me. "I see you were preoccupied last night."

Slapping my hand over my mouth, I muffle the laugh threatening to spill, while Harlow issues a deadly glare. "Fuck off," he swore, flicking off his middle finger, "I didn't know you missed me that much."

"Buddy," Presley plants a hand on his chest, hitting his heart twice, continuing the ruse, "I will always miss you. Remember the lullaby you would sing to me to sleep—"

Harlow cuts him off from continuing, shoving him forward and forcing his feet to shuffle out of the front door and towards his car, where Presley erupts in a loud, manic laugh. I couldn't stop a couple of chuckles from escaping me, and when they did, Harlow turned back to me with a shake of his head.

His cheeks slightly darken a shade of red, "he's such a fucking idiot."

I step forward, stopping right before him and cup his chin with one hand, his blue eyes settling on me, "aw, baby, it's okay. I would love to hear your lullaby one day," I grin teasingly, causing Harlow to roll his head back with a groan. That made me sober. I really need to stop teasing him—it's barely ten in the morning.

"Dahlia," he commands lowly, causing my eyes to almost budge out of my sockets and heat to resort back into my core. Oh no, this is not good for me.

I quickly slip my hand away from his face and turn around, feeling the heat of his eyes on my back, "I, um, I'll meet you at the Mustang," I told, ignoring the flutters in my stomach and subtly dash out of the front door, eagerly ready to throw myself into the backseat of the car while Presley is giving me a weird look, barely opening his door.

"What's going on with you?"

"I, um," I swallow a gulp, swinging the backdoor open and throwing my backpack inside, before turning back to Presley's expecting gaze. "Something. It's something. I'm still trying to figure that out." I confess, just before jumping inside the car and sucking in my cheeks, calming the twisted feelings in my stomach and pressing both hands to my face—feeling the heat pouring into my palms.

There was a two-second pause before Presley released a set of chuckles, entering into the vehicle. Harlow soon follows up to the driveway and hops into the backseat, despite the availability of the passenger open.

"What was that?" He points to his foster brother, just as he collects my hand into his, noting how Presley owns a knowing look on his face.

I pretend to play oblivious, shrugging my shoulders and relaxing my face muscles. Harlow hesitates, but he doesn't press on for more details, trusting me with a nod. With that, he leans back against the seat, pulling me along with him.

The ride to school was slow, and quietly mellowed out with the music on the radio. It wasn't the best playlist, or perhaps it wasn't my taste, but it was enough to subdue the emptiness of conversations happening inside the vehicle—mainly due to Presley's knowing smirks sent to the rear mirror.

Resting my head against Harlow's shoulder, I try to figure out why these funny feelings are happening now. I was perfectly content with before; teasing him, joking, playing around. It was normal. I didn't feel the need to do anything else.

But it's different now. Now, he's my boyfriend and now we're recognizing that every little thing we've ever done wasn't just as a friend or an acquaintance. It's an attraction.

I tilt my chin, turning to Harlow, "hey," I spoke in a hushed whisper, trying not to catch Presley's attention from the front seat. He looks down on me with a curious gaze. "I think I really like you."

He scoffs, shaking his head as he collects a piece of my hair and tuck it behind my ear, caressing my jaw with his thumb, "I love you, does that count for something?"

I smile warmly, taking in his touch. "It does." I nod, before adding, "but that's not all."

He cocks a brow at me, anticipating the next sentence when I extend myself, reaching his ear as my lips brush against his lobe, "I am also really horny right now."

Harlow froze underneath me, before he adjusted his pants, "Dahlia," he groans softly, causing my eyes to flutter. "Stop. Before you do something you'll regret."

I hum in thought, releasing a soft sigh as the breath fans behind his ear and pull back, setting myself back on my seat. To be fair, I wasn't expecting anything when I did that—I just wanted him to know my body's reaction to him.

When I, very clearly, know his body's reaction to me.

We reach the school shortly after, and I was the first to sprint out of the car, throwing the straps of my backpack over my shoulders and turn to Presley in the driver's seat, "thank you," I say with gratitude, skipping over to the other side where Harlow steps off, pulling down the hems of his black hoodie.

Once I reach his side, he laces his fingers back with mine, and grabs a couple of students' attention on the sidelines. It wasn't overly dramatic—no one whispers, or gasps, or exclaims that I had taken away Harlow, it was just a small acknowledgement of a new couple. Everyone was too busy minding their own business.

Until, Hannah and Josie saw.

"DAHLIA GRAY!" I hear the girls' scream from a mile away, my eyes dance across the parking lot to spot them sprinting towards me.

Hannah reaches me first, her long auburn hair covering her vision as she latches onto Josie by the arm, her chest rising and falling from the shortness of breath.

"Um," I turn back to Harlow, who looks at the two of them with a look of judgement. I unravel our touch, which forces him to pull his stare away from my friends and look towards me. "Can I talk to them alone?"

He opens his mouth to object, when I beg silently with the look of my eyes. He doesn't say anything else, sighing as he steps out of the way and heads to the front of the building—leaning against the glass doors, but not quite entering.

"Dahlia!" Hannah exclaims, catching a couple more stray eyes, "since when are you and Reid a thing and why haven't you told us?!"

I'm still surprised whenever I hear his first name come out of anyone's mouth, because I don't see him as Reid. Reid Harlow. It sounds like a nice touch but there was always something displeasing to him about hearing his government name. Instead, he's always been known as Harlow. Nothing else.

"It's Harlow," I correct her, "he goes by Harlow."

"Oh." Hannah says, her excitement depleting, but with a nod of acknowledgement, she agrees, "Harlow, it is."

"I can't believe you kept this a secret from us," Josie whispers softly, eyes meeting mine. "I thought we told each other everything."

I pull my lips together, wanting to express more but hesitation still wavers over me like a sinking anchor into a bottomless ocean. It is still there, even after all these times.

"Not really," I shake my head, softly blowing away a strand of loose dark hair that seems to drape its way across my vision. My words hitch in my throat. "We say we're friends, but we aren't. At least, that's how I felt."

The both of them share the same look of confusion, smothered in the expression that they don't understand the topic of the conversation. They were expecting romance retellings, not a gripping reality.

I never thought I would get here, telling them this in person, I always figure we will slip away in college—boasting a natural excuse to leave.

"What are you talking about, Dahlia? We've been friends since middle school." Hannah says strongly, trying to debunk the statement I proclaim. I shake my head.

"No, you two have been friends since middle school. I was always the girl that tagged along, ignored invites to parties and kept to herself. You two kept pulling me in, but I kept pushing back." I swallow hard, looking down at my hands, clenching and unclenching the anxiety building in my veins. I can't believe I'm saying this.

"It's not your fault. It really isn't. You tried so hard to include me into everything—to the parties, the BBQs, all the family gatherings and holidays, but I just never went. I never went because I thought you guys never understood."

I can feel the heat of their stare on the top of my head, trying to decipher the meaning of my language. I'm not speaking in tongue, I'm just speaking from a complicated situation that neither owns experience in. It's hard retelling a movie without knowing the plot.

"Understand what, Dahlia?" Josie asks concerningly; I can picture her green eyes trickling with boosts of concern, her hand held out mid-air, unsure whether to touch me for comfort.

Pulling my lips together, I hate the fact that I'm about to do this. It's embedded in me, even after I left, because the situation hasn't escaped me—not completely. I'm about to tell two girls, that come from perfect families, about the brokenness of my own. I'm trying to let them read the pages.

"My dad is abusive." I let out a breath of fresh air—or what I thought would be. The statement grips onto my bones like parasites, latching onto blood cells and organs with fallacy. I don't feel like I'm telling the truth, but nonetheless, I am. I look up to meet their gaze. "I didn't know the term until lately, but, my dad has been emotionally, verbally and physically abusive to me."

No one said anything. The parasites sinks into calcium like quicksand consuming flesh and I'm struggling to take in their expression. They both hold a gaze of complete shock, trying to process the information.

I'm not surprised this took them by surprise—especially seeing who my father is with company—but I wish they had more verbal affirmations for me to move forward.

"But...but...wait," Hannah pulls her brows together, "how?"

That's the question, isn't it? How does a father hurt a daughter so much, they'll rather submit to the slumber of an infinite sleep than take another minute; they rather find comforts in the arms of foreign presences than withstand holding in the same space? There's no true answer for that.

How could a father do that?

"He hurts me," my voice cracking, the words coming out measle and weak, as if I can't come to terms with my own conclusion. I hate how I sound—but what's worse is the expression etched on their face. It's another stab in the chest. "What else could I say?"

Hannah doesn't say anything, her brown eyes reading over my expression to figure out the truth. I don't know what she expects to find and I don't know what to give her. Everything I told her, I told her with the own credibility of my entire heart.

Will it submit to court?

As each passing second eats at the atmosphere, I feel myself growing more discouraged. I never thought I would be here, and now that I am, I regret each word I spoke.

"I don't expect you to understand. Honestly, I think you probably don't believe me and think we got into an argument or something, and that's why I'm bad-mouthing my father." Is it bad-mouthing if it's the truth? I sigh depressively, "but it's true. It's my truth, and that's far more important than knowing my relationship status with Harlow."

I don't know if this is a goodbye, but it certainly feels like it is.

I give them a sad smile, trying to conform to a comfortability most set to them. They aren't used to seeing this side of me, and now that they opened the lock, I'm not sure I want to hide away again. "Thank you. For being my friends."

I hold out a second, because for a sparingly long second, I thought they would surprise me. Change their minds. Speak. Instead, they didn't, sharing a glance between the two.

So, with that, I turn around and walk away, ready to return back into the comforts of Harlow's arms because I'm starting to feel weak in the knees and my weight is leaning on gravity. I needed support. I need him, and as I drag my heavy feet across the concrete, taking two full steps forward in his direction—someone latches their fingers around my wrist.

Turning around, I find the culprit to be Josie. She was holding onto me with firmness, refusing to budge just a gapping second, and when Hannah appeared to her side, wrapping her small hand around another section above my wrist, they both looked up to me with a small, comforting and understanding smile.

"We believe you."

a/n: so, this is going to be a long author's note. pre-warning.

first, i want to thank all of you for getting G78MPH to 105K ALREADY! it was about 80K like four days again and for me to have this much reads accumulate over the past couple of days is crazy. thank you so much!!

second, i want to welcome the new readers who recently just read this book and have made their way to this current chapter. i'm so so so happy you've given it a chance and i'm so glad you're still sticking around to see how the rest of this ride will be. (warning: not smooth sailing)

thirdly, this wasn't my best chapter, okay? it has good potential, but it's not exactly the best. yes, i still have anxiety and doubt over my writing but this wasn't one of them. i genuinely love the concept of this chapter but i didn't know how to execute it well (imo). this is my first time showing a relationship after getting together, since i've never done this before, this is going to be a bumpy and new territory for me to explore. i hope it's okay so far!!

lastly: i would love to hear your thoughts on dahlia and how much she's grown and her experience to you? what does dahlia mean to you?

(also, if you like to see my analysis on aysa and dahlia's convo, last chapter, it's in the comments!)

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