Boundaries

When I wake up, it's to the echoes of a male voice yelling. It's not a voice I know but the sound is familiar. I've been remembering more and more of my nightmares recently, which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the fact that I'm remembering is incredible but on the other hand, I only remember fragments warped images and distorted sounds and voices. None of it makes sense and it's completely useless to me because the one thing I want to remember never quite makes an appearance.

Like today, I remember a man yelling; indistinct and muffled but I remember it. Only there's no memory that it connects to, just a sense of foreboding; a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is wrong. Usually, my nightmares are accompanied by some sort of uneasiness so that's not new. All I know is this recovering repressed memories business is a lot of hard work and very slow results. This morning's random unlocked memory has no context or anything I can use to puzzle out what it means, instead all I get is the screams of an unfamiliar male voice.

A groan draws me back to the present; that is a very familiar male voice. Rolling my head to the side I see Dastan sprawled on the pillow next to me. Oh, my god! Please tell me we didn't…

"You're staring," Dastan's sleepy voice interrupts my inner freak out. His eyes are still closed but he's obviously awake. I don't respond while he stretches his body out like a lazy cat, my eyes are drawn to the length of his body. Where is his shirt? Why is he in my bed? What have I done? Oh, god I'm so screwed. "Relax," he says, turning sleepy eyes on me. "Nothing happened."

"How are you so sure?" I ask, skeptically. It's not like either of us are the most reliable source and from what I remember of the conversation we had last night it's not entirely improbable that something did happen. "You were drunk and I'm known to forget things."

He snorts, pushing himself up onto his elbows, giving me a pretty good view of the tattoo detailing along his shoulders and back. "Trust me babygirl, if something happened you would've remembered it." I don't doubt that. I take a moment to try and piece together the events of the previous night for myself. I remember being at the club, I remember talking to Dastan on the dance floor- a little more than just talking- and then I went back to the table, we left the club a while after that. I don't remember anything particularly scandalous happening and I don't feel strange or disoriented like I usually do when I lose time so, I guess he's probably right.

I drag my eyes back to his face, he's watching me, no doubt reading every thought and emotion on my face. There's hesitancy to his demeanor, sort of like he doesn't want to make me uncomfortable with the position we've found ourselves in. He's afraid I'll think he took advantage of my memory issues to get what he wanted, I realize. That's ridiculous. I trust him more than almost anyone and I know he would never. I hope my expression conveys it when I give him a tight nod and what I hope comes across as a genuine smile. He returns the smile, far less guarded now. "Are you two quite done?" a voice breaks through the morning haze.

I start, practically jumping into a seated position; my heart racing off likes a startled rabbit. "Theo, what are you doing here?" I ask, pulling my covers a little tighter against my chest. Dastan notices my discomfort and shifts so his leg brushes mine under the sheets; it's enough to calm my pounding heart.

Theo gives me a strange look, then says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world; "We all crashed here last night because we were too drunk to make it home."

"Right," I say tightly. I feel silly, I know he and Connor saw Dastan and I last night, and I know neither one of them were too happy with it. A tense silence settles over the room. The three of us glancing back and forth at each other and I try, as inconspicuously as I can manage, to sink further into the mattress.

Dastan clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence in the air. "Who wants breakfast?" He asks, jumping up from the bed and giving Theo and me an unrestricted view of his partially clothed form. My God, this man will be the death of me. We watch as he leaves the room, both of us unabashedly checking him out before following behind him to the kitchen.

Emma's seated herself on the counter next to the coffee machine. "Tell me you didn't," I say gesturing to the machine; she rolls her eyes at me, sticking out her tongue.

"Theo made it." She tells me off-handedly while scrolling through her cellphone. Oh, thank god! I am not in the mood to drink Emma's pitiful excuse for morning coffee and pretend to like it. She doesn't spare any of us a second glance as we go about grabbing mugs and filling them with caffeine. She mutters something like 'you suck' under her breath but I'm more focused on my mug to respond.

It takes me a few minutes to fully wake myself up, and when I do I realize they've started a conversation about- surprise, surprise- Connor. Why is it that when I'm deadest on avoiding something the universe conspires to go out of its way to put that thing directly in my path? It's like I'm cursed or something. After last night I'd rather not be around Connor, to say that I'm more than a little embarrassed is an understatement. I'm mortified and I know the others noticed how uncomfortable I was around him at the club; it's bound to be far worse in closed quarters.

None of that matters though, because within minutes they've decided they should invite Connor over for breakfast and I'm relegated to the kitchen to prepare it while they all congregate in the living room. I don't mind, I'd much rather hide in here than be forced to socialize with Connor right now so; I set about my task instead. Dastan comes into the kitchen a little while later for a refill. He leans his hip against the counter and analyzes me from over the rim of his mug. "You good?" he asks, looking for all the world like he already knows the answer.

It would be useless to lie, he knows me too well. I give him a tight-lipped smile, "Peachy,"

"Liar," His smirk is mischievous and so boyish for a moment I can't help the smile that spreads across my face in response. That is until he opens his mouth again; "Any particular reason you're avoiding him?"

I clear my throat, the smile instantly falling from my face. He notices the change but doesn't comment on it. "I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Sure, you don't." He nods in a way that tells me he believes about zero percent of what I just said, I grimace and it draws a low chuckle from him. "Fine, I won't push. Just let me know if I have to beat him up." He winks and then leaves again.

God, that's confusing. Why is it that whenever Dastan and I spend more than ten minutes in the same room every single line I've drawn in our relationship gets blurred. It's like there can never be any boundaries. I used to think that the reason we were this way was because he saw me, truly saw me, and that once he'd learned how to see me it wasn't possible for him to stop. That he drew out the true me, the way no one else had, or could. But in all honesty, now I think it's just because Dastan really doesn't understand boundaries. I'm going to have to start drawing some lines if I want this friendship to work, there's no two ways about it.