Leaves [gxg]

16

16

Once again, River found herself sat upon the luxurious bed. She stared at the bag filled with packages of tea, as though if she only thought about tea then everything else would disappear and the way the day had ended would become nothing but a bad dream, dissolving as she awoke. But it didn't dissolve. The words she had spoken continued to reverberate through her mind and the look upon Celeste's face hovered before her eyes.

Her hand rose to her mouth, a belated attempt to silence herself. To cover the place where hurtful words had erupted and battered Celeste. If she could change nothing else about herself, she wished she could gain some control over that mouth. To have an internal valve that held back her thoughts until she could review them and make certain what emerged was not some stream of consciousness dribble, or nervous mutterings that masked her true thoughts.

She couldn't imagine what Celeste thought of her. Telling the woman, outright, that she was a lesbian, that she felt attracted to her and attacking her from all sides. Celeste had done nothing but act like a friend. She had gone out of her way to accommodate River's obsession with tea. Taken her to places River would never have visited in a million years. How River had treated Celeste was not how friends treated each other.

But, then, River's assessment of their friendship did ring true. Celeste had said so very little about herself, very little about anything, if truth be told. Could that be called a friendship? On the other hand, River had not exactly gone out of her way to ask questions. Crippled by her anxiety around attractive women, unable to vocalise anything beyond nervous rambles that petered out into embarrassed silences. River felt as much at fault, more so, as Celeste.

The mobile phone, beside her on the bed, had sat there since she had arrived back. A few text messages from Erisa unanswered so far. Unread, so far. She knew the kind of things those text messages contained. Asking about the day, innuendo filled musings and supportive messages urging her to 'go for it'. Erisa, bless her heart, had no idea how difficult these things were for River.

A flick of the phone, turning it onto its back, and River turned on the screen. Eight text messages from Erisa. Less than River expected. More than she wanted to deal with. The time showed that, if she decided to, she should start getting ready for dinner. She had found out, by accident, that the night for the evening dress, gown, was tonight, but she wasn't certain she would attend or that Celeste would want her to.

She had to answer at least one of Erisa's texts. With a heavy heart, making several typos that she had to erase and rewrite many times, she informed Erisa of how bad the day had gone. That she couldn't go into it right now and that she'd let Erisa know the details later. A few seconds later, she sent another text, apologising for not answering earlier. Another text followed that, telling Erisa how sorry she was that she wasn't talking much. By the time she started typing another apology, she heard a knock at the room door.

The phone almost dropped from her fingers as she jumped at the sound. Placing the phone back on the bed, she made hesitant steps towards the door. Her hand returned to her mouth and she began to chew upon a fingernail, scowled at herself and slapped that hand with the other. Then she reached out for the door handle, uncertain whether she should pretend to be out, asleep, or dead. Though that last option seemed a bit extreme. Even for her.

"Ah, Ms Dorsey." The man, dressed in full Scottish regalia, kilt, sporran and short, velvet jacket, towered above her. He looked both nice and weird at the same time. "Ms DuBois asked us to let you know she may be a little late for dinner. We're serving in ten minutes."

The little look up and down River's body told her that that little snippet of information was to inform her that she was not dressed as expected for such a high-class hotel. Not for dinner, at least. It wasn't an awful look, only one of expectation of better. He meant nothing by it. At least, that's how River interpreted it.