Diana, a timid 19-year-old artist, battles severe anxiety while recovering from the aftermath of a toxic relationship. With support from her father, the VP of a biker club, and his close-knit friends, she starts to heal. When she unexpectedly bonds...
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I knew you were no angel But God, what did I do? Do you remember what I said That first time we met? Stay away Why couldn't you stay away? -Charli XCX
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SUNDAY - November 28th, 1986
EDDIE
"Julien, cut it out," I snapped, frustration evident in my tone as I spoke to him from across the room. He lounged in a tattered recliner, a half-empty can of PBR dangling lazily from his fingertips. Jeff slumped beside me on the worn-out couch, his head buried in his hand as he dozed off.
"You're telling me you two haven't hooked up yet?" Julien arched an incredulous eyebrow, skepticism oozing from every word. "I'm not buying that for a second."
I rolled my eyes at his insinuation, my patience wearing thin. "Why does it have to be about sex? Can't I just be her friend?" I shot back, shooting a pointed glance at Jeff, who suddenly woke up at the mention of sex.
"Who?"
"Diana," Julien answered, taking a sip from his beer. "He told me that he wants to 'be with her.' All I said was 'haven't you guys hooked up?' Now he's losing his mind."
"I'm not losing my mind!"
"You kind of are, dude," Jeff croaked, his voice coated with sleep. "You've been M.I.A, you smell like a shit-ton of cologne all the time, and now, you only write sappy songs."
"Oooh," Julien chuckled, earning a glare from me that said, 'I'm about five seconds away from shoving that can of beer where the sun doesn't shine.'
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I'm just...frustrated. I'll get over it. Forget that I even said anything."
As Julien and Jeff stared sympathetically, I couldn't shake the inner turmoil brewing within me. Maybe being here was a much-needed break from the constant presence of Diana in my thoughts. We had planned this writing session two weeks ago, but somehow, it felt like the first time in ages that I'd spent time with anyone other than her.
In truth, I welcomed the distraction. Lately, it seemed like every spare moment of mine was consumed by thoughts of Diana. Whether it was at work with her, on stage, or even in the solitude of my own thoughts, she was always there, lingering like a persistent melody— an ear worm that wouldn't leave my head.
But as much as I wanted to ignore it, I couldn't deny the crushing weight of my growing feelings for her. It was frustrating, knowing that I couldn't do anything about it— not while she was dealing with her own shit. To make a move on her now would be selfish, and I couldn't deal with the thought of pushing her away.
