I feel very stupid and I know for sure that I’m going to regret this, but I guess this is in my nature just as being caring is in Matt’s.

Maybe we should be friends after all, he and I. I mean, I know he now believes we are, but I guess I could give the little man a real chance since we’re both a pair of dumbasses.

Luckily he’s in his room and he doesn’t know I’m here now, or he would rightfully mock me for the rest of my existence.

I knock again, harder this time, and the door opens right after I move my arm away.

“Charlie?”

I knew it. I knew they were sleeping in the same room. Wait, does that mean they’re sleeping…? Wait. No. I mean, no, right?

No. Definitely not. Not everyone is gay, Charlie.

“Thought you would want some of these,” I say, shaking my head to keep those thoughts away as I lift a plastic bag full of little bags of chips I bought at the vending machine. This isn’t as lame as it looks, though, as I paid with the credit card she gave me earlier, but still. 

Amber just stares at me for what feels like too much time and, uncomfortable, I end up clearing my throat and asking:

“Did Billie end up calling room service, or am I on time?”

“You heard that?” she asks, and I’m trying really hard to focus on her face and not in the silky pajama she’s wearing and she couldn’t even button up properly. When I nod, raising an eyebrow, she grins and I swear I didn’t think I would ever see that type of relaxed, nice expression in her face, so she must still be really drunk. “Well, yeah. I mean no, she didn’t! I know how to do my job too, you know?”

Now she’s just being loud, but she looks proud for giving me that type of answer. It’s almost cute. Wait, no, it isn’t. This is stupid and I shouldn’t have come here in the first place, and I shouldn’t have thought so much about the way she touched my face earlier, and I should’ve just closed my eyes when she left after Billie instead of noticing that her dress was kinda tight.

Gosh, I’m such an useless...

“I also brought this.” I raise my other arm to show her the shitty coffee paper cup I’m holding. It’s burning my fingertips and I’m really trying not to wince when I move it closer to her face. “I thought you could use some of it. For preventing the hangover. It helps me, at least.”

The girl just stares at the burning hot coffee for what feels like minutes, but I don’t mind ‘cause that gives me an excuse to look at her now. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but there’s something in her that feels more… loose. Real. For a moment, I wonder if drunk Amber is the real one, and the normal, posh and kind of uptight Amber that I’ve met for the past hours  was not. 

She looks like she’s had so much fun, like when the day is just perfect and you can’t sleep because you’re still too excited and your eyes can’t even close. That’s it: she looks like a teenager. Or a kid. She grabs the coffee and smiles brightly, and I nod, still staring, ‘cause I’m not really sure how that real/false Amber thought makes me feel. A bit gloomy, maybe; even if this girl is nothing to me and will never be after she gets back to New York and I get back to LA, it saddens me that this is the only way she’ll let her hair down for a second.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she asks after taking a sip. Maybe she’s seeing through me too, and maybe she also has some questions for me burning on the tip or her tongue.

“I’m not. I just wanted to check if everything was okay and if you had fucked it up.” I pause, not sure if I should add this, and I bite my lip before saying it anyway: “I’m sorry about your boyfriend. That must’ve been really hard, being away and all.”

I know how it feels to be broken up with through the phone. I mean, she didn’t say they had broken up, only that he cheated on her, but she doesn’t strike me as the type of person who would give a second chance to a guy who does that.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you for these.” I should admit that I love the way Amber moves around, even now. When she leans forward to me, her eyelids soft, her mouth open just a bit, I’m mesmerized by her movements and by the fact that she can keep them clean even when her mind is not. I’m so focused on her that I actually can’t tell she’s gotten too close until she’s pulling away, her hand touching mine and taking the plastic bag away from me. “Billie Grace fell asleep fast, but I’m sure she will thank them tomorrow morning.”

She throws them back like it’s nothing, and I think the chips will break and that no one really likes broken chips, but I couldn’t care less.

I’m still staring at her when she asks:

“Wanna go somewhere else?”

I’m only buying her another coffee because she’s the one paying for it.

I am aware that I should be sleeping, but I think it’s kinda rude to leave a person drinking the worst beverage ever in a carpeted corridor in a city that you don’t know after your boyfriend cheated on you.

“So, was he?”

She looks at me and raises a dark eyebrow. I think she’s more focused now, which is nice.

I was feeling a little intimidated by the other Amber, let’s be real.

“Who was what?”

“Your boyfriend. You said earlier that he was supposed to be the one.”

“No, I said my friends believed he was. I knew he wasn’t.” She takes another sip, and I mimic her movements. I don’t really know why I agreed to this if I have no idea about how to have a normal conversation with another human, especially when I don’t really know said human nor I want to know them.

“Then why were you still with him?”

“Uhm?”

“You knew he wasn’t the one. With relationships, it’s either breaking up eventually or getting married. If you knew you were not gonna marry him, why did you keep him around?”

She stays quiet for a moment, like my words meant more to her than I intended. It’s weird to have someone listen to you so carefully, or maybe for someone to take your words seriously for a change. I mean, at least in a way that feels meaningful or real. In a way that you can tell was important. Amber frowns a little and I can see her brain suddenly working at full speed, and I don’t really know what it is, but I kinda like it.

This time, when she speaks, she says something unexpected.

“Just because you marry someone it doesn’t mean they’re the one either, Charlie.”

Her voice sounds dark in a sad way I don’t want to have to deal with, so I decide to change the subject cause it’s three am and I don’t think I can handle this conversation right now. I drink again, and the taste this dirty bitter water has makes me suddenly get why brits have tea as a regular basis. 

She looks at my wrinkled nose and laughs a little, touches it lightly and then moves away.

“I was telling you the truth earlier when I said I was fine. I am. I should probably be more affected by this, but I’m not and I will not summon the sadness. This is what it is. If I’m not worried, you shouldn’t be either, Char.”

No one ever calls me Char, not even my friends, but when the nickname leaves Amber’s lips, I do not complain.

I wanna tell her I’m not worried, and that she can do and feel whatever she wants. I wanna tell her that we’re not friends, and that my only concern is for her to be at full capacity so her performance doesn’t make mine more difficult, but easier.

But I don’t. I don’t speak, and she doesn’t say a word either, and it’s 3 am and that’s fine.