Page 182 of Unexpected Heroine

I’d rather my friends just fuck off for a few hours.

Yes, I know that makes me sound like a horrible bitch. Unfortunately, I don’t care how I’m perceived right now. I love them, but I need to stop stewing in their negativity. I’m already clinging to the bottom rung of life, and they’re somehow bringing me down further.

Especially Stella.

Hell hath no fury like the best friend of a woman scorned.

Like clockwork, Freya comes bounding into the living room with a water bottle in hand. The stirrings of a smile make my cheek twitch when I recall what Kri told me about her boyfriend always bringing her water while she was recovering from her injury.

She sticks out the bottle. “Here you go.”

I glance up from my Southern Swears coloring book—the classiest and adultiest coloring book on the market—and grin. “Thanks. Would you leave it on the nightstand?”

“You know you actually have to drink it, right?”

I purse my lips and roll my eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I wasn’t aware how hydration worked.”

She sits on the bed beside me and juts her lower lip in a five-star pout. “I’m worried about you, sweetheart.”

Feeling a little bratty, I joke, “Oh really? I wonder why. Nothing bad has happened to me recently.”

Ignoring my knee-slapper, she starts, “Stella and I were talking.” There’s a hint of trepidation in her tone, which does wonders for my confidence in how this shit is gonna go.

Meeting her eyes, I stop coloring, leaving the P in the word Crapola only partially red. I’m sure you were expecting brown, but that’s gross.

“Out with it, Freya. Please. I’m not playing guessing games with you. That’s childish. And I really need to finish this coloring page before bedtime.” I offer a forced smile to accompany my forced joke.

She nibbles her lip. “We think it might be time for you to try to get out of the house.”

“I am out of the house. As you can see, this is an apartment,” I tease, feeling a swell of pride at how deftly I redirected her.

Although, I know it won’t last, and my attempt at diversion is as see-through as a freshly cleaned windowpane.

“Come on, Lettie. What do you say?”

“I say lots of things. It’s getting me to shut up that’s tricky.”

I’m hilarious.

She hits me with her best sourpuss expression. “What about leaving? We could get some dinner or go to a movie. Perhaps take a walk on the pier or stroll on the beach. Literally anything would be better than moping. Hell, I’d even settle for a Sunday drive.”

I bat my eyes at her. “Sounds lovely. Why don’t you go ahead and do that then?”

Snarky bitch. That’s me.

Freya’s clearly not amused by my pathetic attempt at humor if the narrow crescents that were formerly eyelids are anything to go by.

To be fair, I can admit my little quip wasn’t funny. But I’m sick and tired of feeling guilty for them being stuck in the apartment because of me. I have half a mind to send them away. Naturally, I can’t do such a thing since infants can’t be left alone.

Ga-ga goo-goo.

I wish I could find some hidden reserves of strength. Kind of like if you’re cleaning your room and you find an old purse you haven’t used for a few seasons, and you go through it and realize you had money in there. Maybe a gift card.

That’s the kind of hope I’m clinging to now—old purse money hope. Unfortunately, there’s never old purse money when you need it.

The people pleaser in me wishes I could give Freya and Stella what they want—me out of the house.

Sadly, I’m not ready. There’s too much shit in my head for me to handle being around strangers. Other than going to the therapy place, I don’t want to leave the safety of the apartment. Once I work through some of these burdensome thoughts, perhaps I can try.

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