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His phone buzzed again. Milo fumbled in the dark, slapping a hand on his nightstand in a vain attempt to stop the buzzing. What the hell time was it? He turned his phone over and squinted at the bright screen. It was two o’clock in the morning, and he had missed five texts from Ivy.

1:32 am: You up?

1:36 am: Milo?

1:45 am: I need a ride.

1:52 am: Please, wake up.

2:03 am: Milo? I need you.

Well, that explained all the buzzing. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He figured Ivy was drunk and too broke to call an Uber, but a knot of worry had already tied itself in his stomach. She needed him.

Where are you?

She replied immediately. 

Dylan’s. I’ll send you the address…

Dylan’s. Fantastic. Why couldn’t he give her a ride home? Milo groaned and swung his legs out of bed. He’d worked until midnight and hadn’t gotten to bed until after one, bringing his total hours of sleep for the night to barely forty-five minutes. This better be important.

He slid on his glasses, pulled a hoodie on over his pajamas, slipped his feet into the closest shoes, and stumbled out the door. As he drove to Dylan’s his anger grew. What kind of one-sided friendship was this anyway? He wasn’t her fucking chauffeur. If she was screwing Dylan then he could drive her home next time!

By the time he parked in front of Dylan’s building, he was ready to give Ivy a piece of his mind… and her damn lips would not distract him this time. 

One look at her, as she hurried out to his car, weakened his resolve. She climbed into the passenger seat and his anger evaporated. Her lipstick was smudged, and her eyes were rimmed in pink. She attempted a smile, but her chin began to wobble. He pulled her into his arms as the tears streamed down her face.

“What happened? What did he do, Ivy?” He spoke into the top of her head as she clung to him. Every atom in his body wanted to kick Dylan’s ass. In his entire life, he’d been in a  grand total of zero fights… but he was ready to start.

“Ivy, look at me.” He grabbed her arms and pushed her back far enough to see her face. “Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded her head. “I’m fine, really. Sorry to make you worry, Milo.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and sighed. “I feel like an idiot.”

Milo sat back in the driver’s seat and waited for her to continue. Other than her tear-stained face, she looked alright, but he had no idea what happened in there, and the possibilities made him sick to his stomach. 

“Did he… I mean, are you…”

Ivy smiled weakly. “He didn’t touch me.”

Some of the tension left his body, but Dylan wasn’t off the hook yet. “So, what happened?”

She lifted a shoulder. “He thought he was going to get laid, but I wasn’t into it. Then he got pissed so I left.”

Red flashed in Milo’s vision. God, he wanted to beat the shit out of that fucking loser. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s just go, okay?” She grabbed his arm and shook him from his rage-induced blindness. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

He focused on her face and managed a nod. He was afraid to speak not knowing what might come of his mouth. Ivy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Milo took three deep breaths, in through his nose out through his mouth, before he convinced himself to drive away. Ivy needed him to drive her home, not to exact revenge on the dick she was dating by dragging him from his home and punching his handsome face in. So, he drove her home. 

Featured image by Sayo Garcia via Unsplash.