We Had the Right Kind of Love // L.S.

Chapter 17. Feelings

(TW: slight mention of an abusive relationship. No graphic details or scenes but it's mentioned)

Also, crossover from one of my other books, see if you can catch it :)

It's practically a Wednesday tradition for Diana and me to get lunch together at the small café down the street from our office. It's disgustingly cliché with string lights, jazz music, and stacks of indie poetry books on the eclectic wooden tables, but it's our Wednesday thing.

This Wednesday is like any other. I start shutting down my computer, she stacks her loose papers into a folder and hides them in her file cabinet to fake cleanness. We both give Crystal a wave on the way out, promising to bring her back one of the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and then we walk the three blocks to The Espresso Coffee House and Bakery.

Except it wasn't like any other Wednesday. Now she knows about Harry. And while this really shouldn't be that big of a deal since I am (as I told myself) moving on from that part of my life, it still makes me a bit on edge for reasons I can't quite pinpoint.

"What's up with you?" she asks as we wait for the light to turn red. The city streets are crowded as usual, as she sidles up closer to me so more people can wait for the light.

"Nothing," I say, shrugging, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine."

Mom once told me that the phrase "I'm fine," is the most told lie in the English language. Today is no exception.

"You're not," she says, "I know you and this," she motions to the space around me, "is not fine."

"I'm just stressed about that upcoming meeting I have with that publisher." This isn't entirely a lie.

The light changes and we quickly cross the street as taxis honk at us to hurry up from both sides.

"Oh right, I forgot about that meeting." She brushes my elbow lightly, "How're you feeling?"

"Stressed," I repeat and then sigh, "I don't know. Nothing is coming together right now and all these ideas I have I can't seem to carry out and execute properly."

On the side of my editing job at Noon Magazine, I'm also attempting to find my way in the world as a freelance writer. Creative writing and storytelling have always been so easy for me, so this writing slump was really testing my nerves and pushing me to the edge of irritation.

I'd been working on a manuscript for the last six months now and although it was a nice story it was not my best work, and I knew it. The plot was messy, the characters not developed, and I was pretty sure that the reader could feel the frustration that had been banged through the keyboard to create the piece.

"You're just in a dry spell," Diana assures me and then snorts, "In more ways than one."

"You little shit," I playfully shove her before catching her arm and pulling her back into my side.

Her laugh rings like handbells, clear and cheerful over New York's loud soundtrack and it lights my core up with something warm and vaguely familiar. A feeling I hadn't felt in a long time.

There's a small voice in my head that warns me, 'Remember the last time...?' it teases, 'Remember that bit of your heart that's in a little coffee shop in London right now? Remember him?'

I choose to ignore it.

I left Harry behind the day I turned away from his terminal. He'd taken that bit of my heart, but it's up to me to decide what I want to do with the remaining part I have left. I don't want to live a life of regret and unattainable lust. I want to care for someone and for someone to care for me. I want a family and all the ups and downs that come with it.