Three weeks. It's been three weeks since Sebastian kicked down my door and knocked some sense into me. Three weeks since you've said a word to me. Mackie and Stan haven't let me out of their sight since then, making sure I don't try to drown my sorrows again.
"Man, I need to get out. I'm just going for a walk, I swear." I'm dodging around Sebastian in my own apartment,
"Right, and I'm going with you."
"Sebastian, seriously, come on, man. I'm just getting a cup of coffee. I'm not going to a bar. I'll be back in an hour." I'm out the door and down the hall before he can protest too heavily, and a few flights of stairs later – 8 to be exact – I'm free.
I step out into the sunlight waiting for the warmth to seep in, help me unwind; let the breeze hit my face, ruffle through my hair... I don't feel a thing.
I trudge down the road and, after a half hour or so, I find myself in front of a café. It's that little one on the corner a couple of blocks from where you work.
Worked...
We always meant to try it out. Why didn't we?
I feel a flutter on the back of my neck and spin around, you used to run your fingers along the back of my neck like that, then a breeze ruffles through my hair. Just the wind, I guess. I try to shake the thought and walk in, keeping my head down. The last thing I want right now is to deal with being recognized. After ordering, I step aside, staying out of the way, as inconspicuous as I could manage, but I still hear someone to my right gasp. A young woman, sitting at a table, nursing a coffee as she reads. I see in my periphery she's starting to pack up her things in a hurry; curious, I spare a quick glance her direction.
"Y/N?" The woman from set. The one who decided I needed to talk about you. She winces when I say her name.
"I'm on my way out, don't worry."
"What? Why?"
"Just... don't mind me."
"You don't have to leave." I try to stop her, but she keeps her head down, refusing to meet my eyes, "Please, stay." I see her pause, if just for a second. "Have a drink with me."
She deliberates for a moment, before giving in and sitting back down.
I'm handed my coffee and took my seat next to her.
"Last time we had a drink, it didn't really work out well."
"Yeah, well, last time I was a jerk."
"No arguments there." She mutters. I wince, knowing I deserve it, but her eyes get wide and she corrects herself, "But you were... are going through something that's not easy, to say the least. I understand--"
"I know you do." I cut her off, "That's still no reason to treat you like that. I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
"And I'm telling you there's nothing to forgive." She offers a half smile and we sit in a semi awkward silence for a few minutes. I finally remember something,
"You said you're a screenwriter, right?"
"Yeah, or... trying to be."
"Are you working on anything now?" she snorts a little bit,
"I'm always working on something. Now, whether that something will help pay the bills, is another issue."
"What do you mean?"
"I have two whole shelves of original screen plays on my bookcase at home. No one's ever interested."
"I am." She looks skeptical at first, like she's wondering if I'm just trying to make peace, but I finally get her to start describing some of her ideas.
She generally seems to like writing Sci-Fi action, but she told me about a couple of spy scripts, and what she described as her only attempt at romance. I was listening intently, asking questions, genuinely interested, when I slipped up,
"Oh, she would have loved that one. She was a shameless Sci-Fi geek." It takes a minute before I realize I used past tense, "Sorry, I didn't mean to--"
"No, please, tell me more about her." She leans on her elbows looking sincerely interested,
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Women don't usually want to hear about the woman who came before them."
She sniggered a little bit.
"Really, she sounds fantastic, I really don't know anything about her, and it's not like we're actually together." She's smiling, but I could swear she almost sounds hurt, "So, how did you land a girl like her?"
I laughed a little bit at the playful insult, but promptly launch into the story of how we met. Coming into the sandwich shop almost every day, the bag of chips, the date in the bookstore.
"Wait... That was her? I bought a book there, Station Eleven,"
"That was one of her favorites." I say with a nod, leaning over the table as she continued,
"It had a post it in it that gave a fantastic review, actually got me to buy the book and it recommended another just like it... Just realized I haven't read that one. I always wondered if I'd ever get to meet that person."
We both go quiet and I see the understanding in her eyes. I don't feel you. I don't hear you. But I actually know what to do this time, so I ask.
"Would you like to have dinner?"
