Can we not?

"Don't want anything else, please," you mumble, twisting away from Scott and curling up facing the back of the couch and covering your face with your arms so they at least won't be staring right at you when you start to cry.

Dex is obviously super pissed at you—you can't even remember the last time he was this mad—and he's probably right to be. You've maybe never felt so wretchedly alone before, as you do now.

"Bridge..." Scott says, and then doesn't seem to know what to say. "You really need to get on top of that sunburn," he says after a moment. "Or else it's going to hurt really bad later."

"Can I have my phone back?" you ask, knowing you sound pathetic, and not really caring enough to try harder.

Dex sighs and walks over to the back of the couch to get a better look at you. "Promise you won't do any dumb drunk-texting or anything," he says, reaching into his breast pocket and taking out your phone.

"Who would I text?" you ask the back of the couch without looking at him. "You guys are my only friends." You can feel him and Scott trading some kind of look, which only makes you feel worse. You clutch your phone to your chest. "Can you guys. Just let me have my earbuds and leave me alone?"

"I still think we should at least put some aloe on you first," Scott says.

"I agree," says Dex. "Look, we'll team up and make it quick."

When you still don't reply he says, "I'll give you your earbuds if you let us deal with your sunburn."

"Fine," you say. "Don't care. Do what you want."

Dex comes around to the front of the couch and Scott moves down by your feet and gets the cap off the aloe tube. He gets some in his hand, passes the tube to Dex, and begins rubbing the stuff into your calves. Dex starts on your shoulders.

You meant to try to hold off a while longer, till they were gone and you could just put on something sad and wallowy for music, but you can't shake the miserable feeling that this dumb teamup for the sake of your stupid drunk ass is the last time you're ever going to do anything all together. Despite yourself you start to cry, and before you know it you're full-on sobbing into your arms against the back of the couch.

Dex lets out a long exhalation. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

You shake your head no, since you know better by now than to suggest, be friends with Scott again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what a pathetic loser I am? No thanks," you snuffle unhappily.

You feel him settling in a little more comfortably next to you. "Where's this coming from, Birdie? Huh?" he wants to know.

You have no idea how to explain how bereft you are about him and Scott. If he didn't get it before, it's not like being falling down drunk is going to make your reasoning more accessible. "Even my own mom doesn't like me," is all you can think of to say.

"That's because your mom's cunt tastes terrible," Scott says, which is such a confusing joke to make in this context that you lift your head and stare at him in bewildered disbelief.

"Actually he's right about that," Dex says.

"I don't get the joke—is it just—a really gross thing to say?" you falter after a minute. They exchange a puzzled look.

"Could you repeat back what you think he said, Bird?" Dex says after a second.

You stare at him, then twist around to see them better. "He said Mom's pussy tastes bad—"

You leave off in confusion as they both dissolve into almost-hiccupy laughter. You're starting to put it together that this is some kind of misheard lyrics type situation. "What did you really say?" you ask, when their laughter finally subsides maybe a full minute later.

They look at each other and disintegrate into snorting giggles all over again.

"He said your mom's a cunt with terrible taste," Dex manages after a while. "He did not offer any remarks implying he has ever sampled the lady's wares, so to speak."

"Oh," you say.

"You are so fucking drunk right now, babe," Scott says, patting you on the leg. "So let's say you get a hall pass on this heavy duty self-pity, for now. Do you wanna use it and tell us what else has you saying shit like, you're a loser, when you aren't?"

You resume your position facing the back of the couch and cover your head with your arms. "You won't understand," you say after thinking it over for a moment.

"Oh, right, thanks for the show of faith," Dex says.

"I'm serious," you say. "I don't even know how to explain. How sad I am. I feel like you guys gave me. Like divorce papers or something. I feel broken-hearted. Like, you won't get it. I feel like I'm in mourning and nobody else wants to even admit there's something to mourn."

You feel Dex take a long breath inward, but he doesn't speak. There's a pause, and then Scott says, "What else?"

You almost don't decide to spill, but, well, what is cataclysmic drunkenness for, after all, but to embarrass yourself saying shit you normally never could? At first you only mean to explain, "I'm so wound up. All the time. I really wanted to lose my virginity. This school year." But suddenly, now that the dam has caved, the words are all tumbling out of you in an uncontrolled torrent. "But nobody wants to have sex with me. I'm not likeable, or something. Mike told Lacey. He said I'm intimidating. Like I'm not even worth fucking and forgetting. And. I can't like, just get myself off. The fact Mom literally took my door away. I hate her, and I hate my stupid body, except I also hate that I have to go to a new school in the fall. And live with strangers. And pretend like I'm not basically? Just an eighth grader level of sexual experience? And this stupid lake trip. I thought. Or well, I hoped. I could fix things. I thought I could fix you guys. And then the other shit. Would seem less bad. I know I'm not supposed to say. But I don't even see the point. If life is just this fucking sad. I'm just, so fucking sad. And. Like. Aren't guys supposed to be total pigs? Or something? Somebody should have agreed to fuck me. By now." You run out of air here and stop, since you can't think of anything to say, anyway. "I give up," you conclude lamely. "I just want to give up on this whole shitty year."

Scott's hand is frozen on your thigh. Dex reaches over you to grab your hand in his, giving it a fierce squeeze. "Hey," he says. "Do you trust me, Birdie?"

You think about that. "Some," you decide. "Mostly. Maybe. Okay. Yeah."

He must actually be a bit worried because he doesn't have a dry retort about that. "Then trust me when I say everything's going to be okay."

"Teddy." You heave a huge sigh. "I am so tired of being told that."

"I know. But maybe you can grant him and me the boon of being the last two people on earth who still get to wear out their fucking welcome on cheering you up?"

In your peripheral vision you see Scott sit up a little straighter, at that him and me. It feels a bit like he was hanging back, like he didn't feel entitled to exercise the same friendship privileges because he's only known you four years to Dex's thirteen.

You reach with your free hand, groping for his, and he takes it. You squeeze Dex's hand, and then Scott's. "I know I'm supposed to just get over it. But I miss you guys so much," you lament. "I just, all the time. I want us to go back to a year ago and just, not fuck up every single thing."

"Me too, Bridgy," Scott says, in an unbelievably sad-sounding, regretful tone that makes Dex turn his head to look at him. He doesn't say anything, though, and Scott doesn't either.

You get the feeling neither of them want it commented on. "Don't laugh," you say. "But. Would you guys cuddle me here like this? And we can listen to Hamilton or something? I know I'm being such an asshole to even ask. But would you."

"At least Hamilton is less depressing than whatever Air Supply slopfest you were wallowing in earlier," Dex says, which makes Scott kind of laugh.

"It had Carole King too," you tell him. "You can't pretend she's not legit."

"We would never," Scott assures you, lifting your hand and planting a little kiss on the back of it.

"Seriously, though," Dex says, "we really need to slather you in aloe or you are going to be a literal hot fucking mess tomorrow."

"All I heard was I'm gonna be hot, and fucking," you tell him.