Blake snatches the remote as the bus rumbles to life, rolling away from the hospital and a piece of our lives we’ll never getback. No matter how much we might wish it weren’t true, things will never quite be the same again. Something deep inside me speaks to the truth of it. I glance at Raina again, and she looks at me like she’s trying to hold onto something solid.
I meet her gaze, silent but certain. I don’t have to say it. She knows.
Whatever happens, I’m right here.
The bus lurches forward; the vibrations settling into my bones. I keep my posture loose, but my eyes are scanning the space, watching, waiting. It’s automatic now.
Raina shifts, her fingers finally ghosting over the bruises on her neck. My stomach twists at the sight, her uncertainty punching into my gut.
“Not a comedy,” Nash says, swiping the remote from Blake. “We don’t want her laughing and hurting herself.”
A second later, Darius swipes the remote from him. “And nothing sad. Come on, we can’t go the emotional route.” It’s like he’s been with us all along, slotting in with the group perfectly where just a couple weeks ago we were giving him the side eye.
His control breaking, Tristan slides past me, and snatches the remote from Darius. I can see a snappy retort playing in his mind, but he doesn’t voice it out loud. Instead, he hits play onLucifer.
“Lucifer? Really?” Nash comments, raising an eyebrow as he licks at his lip ring.
“It’s her comfort show. At least the only one that isn’t a comedy,” Tristan replies, rolling his eyes. I’m the only one who sees it though, because he’s already brushing by me again, shoving the remote into my hand as he passes. I can only imagine he’s frustrated that his best friend gets to snuggle the girl he loves, but the man doesn’t even know her favorite show.
The sharp snap of fingers makes us both pause, glancing at my girl. She points to an open spot on the couch, letting Tristanknow he can stay. He pauses, shell-shocked for a moment before he seems to jump into action, not wanting to give her the chance to change her mind.
He settles on the cushion and rests his chin on his palm. He seems relaxed, but he’s not fooling anyone. It’s clear as day he’s hiding a smile under his fingers.
She might not be ready to forgive him, but he sees a glimmer of hope…
My hands move with a practiced ease, the movements almost becoming muscle memory after how many times I’ve done this over the past week, but there’s an electric tension in my fingertips as I reach for the tea canister. I hesitate, hovering over the selection of leaves. I’ve done so much research on what combination will be best to aid in her healing that it’s become a jumbled mess in my sleep-deprived mind.
The electric kettle slowly begins to rattle, its growing boil punctuating my thoughts. Each bubble bursts with urgency, mirroring the chaos swirling inside my mind. Every molecule in my body craves to offer her comfort, yet how can I when the distance between us feels like an ocean? She’s been trapped in herself since we returned to the beach house; I’d be the biggest selfish prick if I tried to push things. I can’t lose any footing I’ve gained. It’s not worth it.
I grab the leaves Nash said she seems to enjoy the most and take a deep breath, the soft scent rising up to meet me as I pour the hot water over it. “Steady now,” I murmur under my breath, though it feels more like a command to myself than the leaves.I focus on the steam curling upwards, hoping it will carry my unspoken words to her.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve curated so many conversations with her in my head that I no longer know what I’d even say to her anymore. We’re way past a pregnant pause. What would I even call what it is now?
A limbo? A chasm?
Whatever it is, it’s thick and palpable, filled with all the unsaid things that tremble on my tongue but never quite make the leap into the open air. Not that I’ve had the chance to let them loose…
The tea steeps in silence, a swirling dance of color as I watch the leaves unfurl. The kitchen feels both intimate and suffocating, filled with the weight of my guilt hanging in the air like thick fog.
I set the tea on a small tray, arranging it just so. A spoon, a small napkin, the lemon slice just off-center. It’s meticulous—too meticulous—like I’m trying to arrange my thoughts just as precisely. The room is quiet except for the low buzz of anticipation, or maybe it’s apprehension. It’s hard to tell these days.
Soft footsteps break through, but it’s not the cadence of Raina sneaking up on me. I turn around to find Nash, a frown tugging on his lips, replacing the usual nibbling he does on his lip ring. Nash and melancholy don’t go well together. It’s like orange juice in cereal—all kinds of wrong.
We’ve created somewhat of a routine over the past week. One of them will sit with her when she lets them, other times she throws anything that’s nearby and points to the door, yelling with her eyes to get out. Or so they’ve said. I’ve yet to see it for myself.
I’m not sure what happened between her I’ve-got-this-nothing-can-stop-me attitude in the hospital and arriving here.It’s like she stumbled into a dark room and the door slammed closed behind her. It has me worried as fuck.
Apparently, I’m not the only one. Nash blows out a deep breath, his hand running through his hair, and defeat shines from his eyes. “You holding up, man?” I know better than to ask if he’s okay. He’s not.
None of us are.
“I thought she’d be in a better mood with her appointment tomorrow, but she seems more distant than ever.” He runs a hand over his face before rubbing at his eyes with his pointer and thumb. I turn my back to grab the tray, giving him a moment to get himself under control.
We all understand the emotions, doesn’t mean we want to cry in front of each other.
“Maybe she needs to get the all-clear before she’ll believe she can test her voice,” I suggest, although I feel I’m grasping at straws here. It’s fucking difficult being on the outskirts like I am. The Raina I know is from five years ago. A lot has happened since then…
“Maybe,” Nash echoes as I hand the tray off. Our eyes lock for a brief moment. There’s an unspoken understanding there, a shared history of friendship, of being there for each other in our lowest moments. “Make sure she doesn’t know it’s from me,” I say, my voice lower than I intend it to be.
