Page 67 of Loving Lauren
Outside, the cold air stung her cheeks, and she realized her hands were shaking. Not from the temperature, but from the effort of walking away when every instinct screamed at her to go back inside. She pulled out her phone to text Thalia, then stopped. She already knew what her sister would say: that she was playing with fire and eventually she’d get burned again. Maybe it was time to admit Thalia was right.
Walking home, Sierra wondered if she was being unfair to Lauren, or if she was finally learning to protect herself. She couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
Chapter 42
Movie night at Sierra’s apartment continued as it always did, the ritual so familiar it could have played on autopilot. But without Lauren, it was never quite the same. The empty space on the couch felt like its own character, heavy and insistent, pulling Sierra’s eyes back to it no matter how hard she tried to stay focused on the ridiculous action flick Jett had picked.
She laughed at her friends’ sarcastic commentary, chimed in with the occasional snarky remark, but her heart wasn’t in it. Every time she glanced at the cushion beside her, the ache sharpened. Thalia had been joining them more often lately, which helped ease the quiet, but not the specific absence of someone who used to belong there.
During an especially absurd chase scene, Calliope grabbed the remote and froze the screen. She turned toward Sierra with the kind of pointed look that meant she’d been holding back for a while.
“Okay. How are things with Lauren? Really.”
The sudden attention made Sierra’s pulse skip. She toyed with the corner of the throw pillow in her lap, words coming out slower than she wanted. “We’re friends. They come to my class every week, and sometimes we run into each other at the coffee shop. It’s... slow. Careful.”
Calliope raised her brows. “But are you two going to get back together? Because it feels like there’s this giant elephant on the couch that we’re all politely ignoring.”
Sierra went quiet, the question catching her square in the chest. Weeks ago, she would’ve had a definite answer, but now? She stared down at her hands before lifting her gaze again. “A few weeks ago, I’d have said no. But they’ve been showing me they’re trying—therapy, real growth, not just words. I’m not making any declarations. I just... I can’t say never anymore.”
The group exchanged looks, their expressions a mix of caution and hope.
Thalia leaned in, voice gentle but steady. “Be careful with your heart. But don’t lock it away either. You deserve to be happy, however that ends up looking.”
Emotion burned behind Sierra’s eyes, and she clutched the pillow tighter. “I love you guys. Thank you for always being on my side, even when you think I’m making questionable choices.”
“Always,” Raven said firmly.
“Always,” the others echoed in their own ways, the word weaving itself into the air like a promise.
The following week at the community center, Sierra stood at the front of her classroom, every supply carefully arranged on the table—charcoal sticks lined up, watercolor trays gleaming, stacks of paper fanned neatly. She’d been thinking about tonight’s theme for days, the one that wouldn’t leave her alone.
Her chest tightened as she faced the room, eyes skimming across familiar faces and new ones alike. She could feel Lauren sitting somewhere behind those expectant gazes, and the weight of that fact pressed hard against her ribs.
“Tonight’s prompt is:What I Couldn’t Say.”
The room went still, the silence thick and heavy. Her voice wavered, but held. “Interpret it however you need. Words you never spoke. Things you wish you’d heard. Feelings that have been trapped too long. Whatever it is—let it out. In whatever form feels right.”
As students dispersed to gather supplies, the room filled with the quiet sounds of creation: pencils scratching, brushes swishing, the occasional sigh of frustration. Sierra moved among them, offering encouragement, her teacher’s smile fixed in place even as her mind churned.
She paused by a woman who’d painted a red thread tangled around the silhouette of a mouth. Another student sketched a gravestone surrounded by half-formed sentences. Sierra praised them softly, though her own throat felt tight.
Then she reached Lauren’s table.
Her breath caught.
The piece was raw and messy, bleeding with emotion. A figure walked away on one side of the page, its shape dissolving into streaks of gray. On the other side stood another figure, stark and still, chest ripped open—blue and red ink spilling like something vital torn loose.
And tucked within the shadows, Sierra saw words written in Lauren’s neat handwriting:I’m sorry I let go without letting you reach for me.
Her vision blurred. Every instinct screamed to demand an explanation, to collapse under the weight of it, but she forced herself to turn, to walk calmly out into the hallway. The cool wall pressed against her back as she dragged in a shaky breath,steadying herself. She was the teacher here. She couldn’t break down in front of the class.
After what felt like forever, she reentered the room, voice carefully even. “Wonderful work tonight, everyone. Let’s wrap up a little early.”
Confusion flickered across a few faces. They still had twenty minutes, but no one questioned her. Chairs scraped, bags zipped, and one by one, the room emptied.
Except for Lauren.
They sat still, eyes on their drawing, shoulders hunched. When they finally spoke, their voice was raw. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you. Maybe I shouldn’t come back.”
