A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 53 | us rewriting ourselves

Sharp at six o'clock, the moon reigned amidst the stars.

From across my bedroom windows, the sight was glorious.

I fastened my curtains and dried my hair.

Orlando had left hours ago.

Should Elisabeth change her mind, and denies coming, what was to become of me?

I scratched my arms, rubbed, and hugged them, then, paced back and forth around a duffle bag.

If such a tragedy befell me, my world would hit rock bottom, but then, this crap won't happen to me.

My heart dared to hope.

I shoved my medical books and novels into the duffle bag, fell like a bag of fried potatoes, and spread-eagled my limbs on the bed.

My door banged open, and an "ahem," followed suit. "She is here."

"She's inside?"

Anna nodded.

Several knots twisted in my chest, and fireworks flashed before my eyes.

My heart was a chainsaw. "If she's..."

Anna snitched. "Quit making up excuses." She spun on her heels and peeped over her shoulder. "C'mon, now, follow me."

"Sure, after you."

I staggered up, dragged my legs, and tiptoed after her moves.

She ripped open the blinds.

Her speech blustered. "Lisa is outside. Stay here and wait."

The night breeze howled in Elisabeth's wrecked silhouette.

Our larger-than-life eyes locked, mine followed hers, and my entourage washed out.

She sought to have a tête-à-tête but none of us uttered a word.

Let loose to knock back at the air, straight hair fluttered over her oversized gray sweater.

Her baggy pants protested each stride as she strolled past the door but she adopted a ladylike demeanor of calmness conquered, and she flopped into a couch.

Anna balled a hand beneath her breath. "The two of you need to talk."

She retired to the mini-bar for a thirst quencher. "But, no fighting."

"Scared?" Lisa pressed her lips and tapped a spot on the couch.

I jiggled my fingers, settled down, and tucked a lip. "I dare say."

"I have a few tricks stashed up my sleeves." She interlaced our hands, sneaked a look at me, and massaged my fingers. "Relaxing right? Feel free to tell me anything about your fears."

Her palms were solemn, her fingers swift, and her moves clichéd.

"Tell you? Why?"

"Yes, why not?"

With a downward gaze, I faked a smile, and cast my eyes at whatsoever furniture in the apartment but never at her. "You still... do you?"

She grasped my chin and withheld my face. "Give it to me straight."

Shit!

Her thumbs warmed my cheeks. "I'm more concerned if you don't tell me. Often... well... always... you have to say it."

I arrested her hands, and they sank onto my thighs. "Fine, tell me..." My breath deepened. "Do you love Dwain?"

"That's stupid." She barked a quick laugh and stifled it.