Rain Riddled Confessions

Rain thumped mercilessly around me, soaking my already wet frame. I knew on the other side of the window, each thump sent my best friend under the blankets a little further—a quirk not many knew about her. Despite being seventeen years old, she had terrible ombrophobia.

I’d learned about her fear the first time I’d come over to her house. The rain hadn’t even touched the ground before she was throwing herself under the recliner and crying out for her mom. Eight-year-old me had scrambled up the stairs and found her mom in record time, only to come back to her dad crawling under the recliner with her, whispering about how “we don’t want to scare off the neighbor boy, do we?”

Eleven years later, I still made jokes about her never successfully scaring me away. She was stuck with me, whether she liked it or not.

I shook my head out of memory lane as a raindrop fell directly into my eye. I blinked away the sting and looked down, noticing that every new droplet caused the bouquet in my hand to suffer a little more. With a defeated sigh, I climbed around soaken rosebushes and knocked on her bedroom window. After three knocks, I finally heard shuffling from the inside. The window panel opened with a grunt from Clara.

“Gray?” she looked out her window, voice full of confusion, “What are you doing here? It’s like…late and wet. God, what are you doing here?” she repeated.

I lifted the bouquet of flowers as if it had the answers to all the questions in the world. “You’re right, it is late and wet,” I said obviously, pointing down at my rain-soaked frame, “Does that mean I can come in?”

Clara barely had time to register what I had asked before I was tossing the bouquet up at her. She gasped out an “Oh!” before catching and placing the bouquet on her desk. She reached back down to help pull me up into her bedroom.

Her nails had been recently manicured—a new hobby her older sister had discovered and since made her a test bunny. I had been one too, but only because it had put a smile on Clara’s face to see me go through the “torture” of getting my nails done.

I grunted as I put my shoe against the side of her house, the wall slick with water. My foot slipped a few times before I finally got a decent enough hold to grab her hand. With the help from Clara, I hoisted myself up the windowsill—an action I had done many times over the course of our friendship.

“What are the flowers for?” she asked, closing the window behind me.

“I know the rain bothers you, so I figured it would be something nice to take your mind off it..." I trailed off with a shrug and kicked off soaken sneakers.

I looked back to watch Clara dive into her bed and bundle herself under blankets once again. For some odd reason, I decided to get in bed with her, soaken hoodie and pants be damned. If there was anything she needed, it was a good laugh.

“Gray!” she squeaked, “I just washed these sheets!”

“Oops,” I laughed and curled against her, my arms automatically hugging her frame.

Her blond hair smelt like the honey-infused oil she’d begged me for Christmas as I dragged my nose against the crown of her head. We were an awkward pair of friends—nothing more, nothing less, since she couldn’t get over her fear of relationships and commitment.

It tore my heart knowing every ounce of effort I put into her wouldn’t be reciprocated. I hugged her tighter to let her know I was there for her, and for once in my life, I felt Clara relax. Her shoulders slumped and a tiny sigh escaped her parted lips.

She looked up, eyes almost closed. “Feels oddly… nice,” she murmured. Her voice was quiet with sleep, the late night rainstorm catching up to her.

“You can go to sleep,” I mumbled, “Don’t mind.”

She let out a little hum, the noise music to my ears. Just like when we were kids, I brought a shaky hand to her hair before smoothing it down. We stayed like that for a few minutes—huddled close, hands smoothing down frizzy hairs until her breath evened out and her legs stopped moving against the sheets.

I was nearly asleep when my ears perked up. The door creaked open and I briefly changed my attention from Clara's sleeping face to the woman standing in the doorway. Her sister, the one who always used her as test bunnies whenever new hobbies surfaced, smiled softly.

“Need a blanket? I thought I heard Clara talking,” Courtney whispered.

I looked down at my still wet clothes, then back up to her. “Please?” I whispered back. “I'm probably staying the night, just so you know.”

She rolled her eyes—to say ‘what a surprise’ and walked away. A few seconds later, she draped a plush blanket over Clara and I. Courtney padded back towards the doorway, hand hovering over the lightswitch. “Next time, can you come through the door like a regular person?” She laughed loudly but stopped when her sister started to mumble in her sleep.

“Grayson, who you talkin’ to?” Clara said as she hugged me impossibly closer.

“No one, go back to sleep,” I whispered.

Once Courtney left, I pressed my lips against Clara’s forehead like it was my lifeline. Throughout the night I felt her mold her body against mine. We were meant to be, fitting perfectly like a handcrafted puzzle, but gamophobia and philophobia never mixed well.

By the time sunrise started to peer around, I made the mistake of leaving. I knew it would only add to her fears—how could she ever get over them if the one person who truly loved her could leave without a second thought? I slid on my sneakers again, ignoring the fact that my socks from the night before hadn’t fully dried.

“I’m sorry Clara,” I whispered to no one in particular as I jumped down the windowsill and into the mud surrounding the prickly rosebush. The mud squelched and splattered up my pants. I ignored it as I sprinted through her family’s dewy grass, barely missing the old tree stump that her father never fully took out.