Page 68 of Loving Lauren
Sierra’s pulse pounded, but she shook her head. “No. If we’re going to be friends, real friends, we’ll hit rough patches. Walking away isn’t the answer.”
Lauren’s eyes shone, their jaw tight. They packed up slowly, pausing at the doorway. “Thank you. You could’ve shut me out so many times. I don’t deserve your friendship, but I’m grateful you’re letting me try.”
The door closed softly behind them, leaving Sierra alone among the scattered brushes and damp paper. She stood still, the air heavy with everything unsaid. Her chest ached with equal parts fear and hope, the edges of both cutting sharp as she whispered to the empty room, “Neither of us is running anymore.”
Chapter 43
The art class ended in a hush that felt heavier than usual. Brushes clattered into jars, chairs scraped across linoleum, but few people spoke as they packed up. Sierra moved slowly, rag in hand, wiping down tables that didn’t need wiping, her eyes flicking again and again to Lauren.
They slipped toward the door, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the floor. Before Sierra could say a word, the heavy door thudded shut behind them.
She froze, rag still in her hand. Part of her wanted to chase after them, to close the distance with a word or a touch. But she stayed rooted, heart thumping with a quiet, familiar ache. If Lauren needed space, Sierra wouldn’t force her way in. Not anymore.
When she bent to collect a stray sketchpad near the front row, something caught the light under a chair leg. A silver bracelet, slightly tarnished, one she recognized instantly from Lauren’s wrist. She turned it over in her palm, thumb brushing the familiar curve of metal.
She slipped it into her pocket, intending to hand it back next week. But the thought nagged at her. Lauren never forgot things like this. Not unless something was seriously wrong.
By Sunday afternoon, Sierra couldn’t shake the image of Lauren’s hunched shoulders disappearing into the stairwell. The bracelet sat on her kitchen counter like an accusation, its silence louder than anything she could ignore.
Finally, she gave in. She drove across town with it clutched in her hand, telling herself it was just an errand. Just returning something. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.
Every rational voice told her to just text about the bracelet, but seeing Lauren so unlike themselves in class had triggered something protective she thought she’d buried. She hated that she still cared this much.
When the door opened, her first thought wasn’t the pallor on Lauren’s face but the shirt they were wearing—her old Razor Braids tour tee. It hung loose on their frame, collar stretched, black faded to gray from too many washes. For a second, her breath caught in her chest.
Then she really looked at them. The washed-out color of their skin. The slackness around their mouth. The way their shoulders sagged as though every ounce of energy had been wrung out.
Sierra lifted the bracelet between them. “Hey. You left this in the classroom. Thought you might want it back.”
Lauren blinked, like they’d forgotten it existed. “Oh. Thanks.” Their voice was hoarse, weaker than she’d expected. Their hand shook as they reached for it.
Sierra frowned. “You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine,” Lauren said too quickly. Their hand brushed across their stomach before disappearing into their pocket. “Probablyjust stress. I’ve had this ache all day, but I’m sure it’s nothing. Just tired or maybe a bug.”
“Lauren...” Sierra started, but they cut her off with a thin, uneven laugh.
“I promise, it’s not a big deal. I just need sleep.”
Every instinct in her screamed to push harder, but their expression stopped her cold. The same walls she’d seen before were back in place, fragile but impenetrable. She held out the bracelet instead. “Okay. But if it gets worse, you have to promise you’ll call me.”
“I promise.”
She lingered another second, memorizing the way the shirt hung on them, the shadows carved under their eyes, the way their voice faltered on simple words. Everything about them radiated wrongness. Still, she forced herself to step back, let them close the door, and walked slowly to her car with unease pressing against her ribs like a stone.
That night, Sierra curled up on the couch with Salem sprawled across her legs, tail flicking against her ribs. The muted glow of the TV lit the room, but she couldn’t follow the movie. Her thoughts kept circling back to Lauren. They were too pale, too quiet, wrapped in their shirt like armor.
The phone buzzed just after nine.
Lauren:Thanks for coming by. Sorry I was weird. I’m fine. Just need rest.
Sierra:Okay. Please take care of yourself.
She set the phone on the coffee table. Salem purred against her, steady and grounding, but even with the cat’s warmth anchoring her, she couldn’t shake the image of Lauren leaning in the doorway, pale and exhausted, insisting it was nothing.
Hours later, the credits had long since rolled, but Sierra was still awake. She lay in the dark with Salem curled at her feet, phone face-up on the cushion beside her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lauren’s trembling hands, heard that too-quick laugh.
She told herself she was overreacting. People got tired, caught colds, had off days. But the memory of that gray pallor wouldn’t let her rest. Her chest ached with the heavy certainty that something was wrong, even if she couldn’t name it.
