Page 76 of Hard Rock Temptation
“Ineed to buy some fabric. And thread. And needles. And…”
I was muttering quietly to myself, making notes in my journal as I sat on my bed and watched the first videos lessons from my online sewing course. It was turning out to be more fun than I had imagined, but also a lot more work.
Because it was for beginners I assumed I’d already have all the materials I’d need, but it seemed a shopping spree to a fabric store was in order. The thought made me giddy. I’d have to drag Anya along, she had a good eye for colors and patterns.
I paused the video, the excitement I’d been feeling draining away, a painful ache in my chest taking its place.
I still hadn’t seen Anya in days. I had to wonder if maybe she had left the mansion, but I didn’t know where she would have gone. It wasn’t like she had any other friends to stay with.
I had immersed myself in my new hobby but even the joy and inspiration it sparked hadn’t been enough to stop the worries swirling around in my head.
What if we couldn’t all come to an agreement? What if we couldn’t get over our fight? What if the things we’d said had been too much to forgive? What if I lost my friends, forever?
The thought made me sick to my stomach, gut churning like sour acid was eating me from the inside out.
I inhaled deeply, gave myself a mental shake, and unpaused the video.
I tried to lose myself in the lesson but this time I couldn’t concentrate on a thing the instructor was saying. My mind kept wandering back to those morbid thoughts. I paused the video again and stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
I couldn’t let this go on any longer.
I pushed my laptop aside and jumped off the bed. I left my room and went across the hall to knock on Anya’s door. My heart pounded fretfully but I knew if I stopped to think about what I was doing I would chicken out.
“Anya?” I called out.
But there was no answer. Either she wasn’t in there or she was still hiding from me.
There was only one other place she might have been. I braced myself and went downstairs to the kitchen where her fancy European coffee machine sat waiting for her daily doses of caffeine intake.
Sure enough, I caught Anya in mid-sip. When I entered the kitchen she froze, her eyes growing wide over the rim of her mug. There were purple bruises under her eyes and her long dark hair was limp and greasy where it hung over her shoulders.She never got much sleep, but it seemed she’d been getting even less than before.
Anya slowly lowered mug. We stared at each other.
“Hey,” I said weakly with a tiny wave.
“Hey,” she said softly. Her eyes lowered back to her coffee.
We went silent again.
“I hate this,” I finally said. “I hate that I fought with you. I hate that we’re not speaking to each other. I hate that you’re avoiding me. ”
“I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me,” she said in her usual quiet tones.
“Why would you think that?” I asked.
Her mouth twisted. “Because I ‘refuse to have real conversations with my best friends’.” Her voice as caustic as I’d ever heard it. “Because I ‘bottle everything up’ and ‘refuse to talk about my feelings’.”
I winced. I’d almost forgotten the words I’d thrown at her in a fit of pique.
“I’m sorry,” I replied honestly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you meant it,” Anya shot back, lifting her eyes from her mug to meet mine.
Now it was my turn to lower my head. “I do sometimes feel hurt that you won’t open up to me,” I admitted. “But I shouldn’t have said it like I was accusing you. I’m sorry.”
Anya let out a sigh through her nose and put her coffee mug down on the kitchen countertop, leaning against the sink.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said you were dramatic and emotional.”
