Page 129 of Not Another Yesterday
Ok. I’ll see what I can get out of Tor. Don’t stress man, maybe she’s on her period. Every time I think Tor might kill me in my sleep, turns out she’s about to start her cycle.
I actually chuckle at that.
Me:
Sounds wholesome…
Shane:
Keeps things exciting. Do I get homicidal Tori? Cuddly Tori? Horny Tori? Or energetic Tori? It’s like roulette, but with knives and teddy bears.
Me:
’Kay, well, if you’re able to extract some nuggets of wisdom from Tor,please share.
Shane:
Will do. Don’t worry too much.
I send back a pathetic thumbs-up emoji.
When I walk back into the apartment, Tori’s by the door, slipping on her shoes. Even though the look she gives me is soft, sympathetic, maybe meant to reassure, it sets off alarm bells in my head. My chest tightens. This can’t be good.
“I’m heading out,” Tori says, her voice carrying a little too much meaning. Her eyes dart toward Cat who’s emerging from the living room with her arms wrapped around herself.Not. Good.
“Unless you want me to stick around?” she asks, eyes pinned to Cat.
Cat shakes her head.
“Okay,” Tori murmurs. “It’ll be okay, Kitty Cat.” She walks past me, giving my shoulder a quick, gentle pat, and disappears out the door.
I wait for it to shut behind her, then take a tentative step toward Cat, doing my best to swallow the anxiety clawing at my insides like a trapped animal desperate to escape its cage.
“Okay, baby,” I say, my voice low, tight. “What the hell is going on?”
Cat walks back into the living room. I follow, keeping some distance, then watch as she lowers herself onto the couch, her gaze to the floor.
“Did I do something?” It’s the only thing I can think of. That I fucked up somehow without even realizing it. Was it something I said the last time we talked?
“No, you didn’t do anything. I’m not mad at you, I promise,” she says, her voice meek.
“What’s wrong then?” I ask her, searching her face for clues.
She doesn’t respond, folding into herself instead. She looks so small, so sad. I move, sinking onto the couch beside her.
“We don’t do that to each other, remember?” I say softly. “You made me promise to always tell you what’s going on in my head, and you promised me the same in return.”
More silence. Her shoulders hunch, reminding me of a dog that knows it’s in trouble.
“Baby, please,” I beg, becoming increasingly worried.
Finally, her eyes lift to mine. “I have to tell you something.” She looks absolutely terrified.
What the hell happened?
“You can tell me anything,” I say, trying to sound calm even though my heart is racing. Whatever it is, it’s big. It’sbad.
She takes a deep breath. Then another. And another. Her nerves practically radiate off her, and suddenly I feel like I could jump out of my skin with anxiety.
