Page 3 of Every Shade of Shadow

“Can I at least change out of my PJs?”

She stops, eyeing me again. “Shit, is that what they are?”

*

Sab and I settle into our usual back-corner booth at the diner. She orders omelets and coffee for both of us, ignoring my protests.

"So," she says, scrutinizing me over the rim of her mug. "How are you really doing?"

I stare out the window, watching people rush by on the sidewalk, going about their lives. "I don't know. It's been a rough couple of weeks with Gran’s passing, the bank trying to collect...I thought she had all her finances in order, you know. I give my hand a little flourish in the air. “I didn’t expect whatever this fucking nightmare is.”

"I know." Sabrina reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "But things will get better. They always do."

"Do they, though?" I can't help the bitterness in my tone. "Because it seems like every time I start to get my head above water, another wave, wham, comes along to drag me under."

"Please, you're stronger than you realize." Sabrina waits until I meet her gaze. "You've been through so much, and you're still here. That says a lot."

I shrug, brushing off the compliment. "What choice do I have?"

"There's always a choice. And you've chosen to keep fighting." Her eyes soften. "But you also need to take care of yourself. When's the last time you, you know, relaxed? Like, relaxed relaxed."

Heat stains my cheeks. I stare fixedly at my coffee, clutching the warm mug. I finally draw my eyes up to meet her. “You’re kidding, right? I’m about to be evicted. Relaxing is the last thing on my mind, and if you’re about to launch into a tirade on the power of self-pleasure, that bunny or clit-whisperer or whatever can join the silver spoon in your butt.”

Sabrina's eyes widen. "No wonder you're so tense."

Mortification and frustration war inside me. Why does she always have to push?

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"Annabelle—"

"Drop it," I snap. "Just, please, drop it."

Sabrina holds up her hands in surrender. "Fuck, fine. I'll drop it."

We finish our coffee in silence. The tension slowly ebbs, but a heaviness remains. I hate fighting with Sabrina. She's only trying to help, even if her methods leave something to be desired.

When we part ways, she offers me a tight hug. "Call me if you need anything. And think about what I said, okay?"

That would be the offer to sleep on the floor of her dorm room—illegally, of course, sneaking in and out like a common thief.

I nod, too emotionally drained to argue further.

*

I really wanted my shift at the café to be slow.

Uneventful.

Boring, even.

But it’s a nightmare.

I could have done without ridiculous drama like a badly boiled egg or a smaller than usual omelet. I have real problems, unlike the suited goons I have to serve all day. Like, come on, what do you expect? This isn’t Madison Park.

The walk home is a blur. By the time I reach my apartment, melancholy has settled deep into my bones.

I hit the light switch, but nada.

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