In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Samara: Come over and help me find something to wear.
Reagan: That's great! A date with who?
Samara: Jeremy
Reagan: Jeremy..... Like your yoga instructor, Jeremy?
Samara: Uh huh.
Reagan: That's um, interesting. I'll be over in a few.
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“HOW ABOUT THIS ONE," Samara asks, dangling a red dress in front of my face. The dress in question is so short it hardly qualifies as a dress at all. I raise one eyebrow.
“Sure..... If you plan on flashing everyone every time you stand up, sit down, or basically move at all,” she tosses the dress across the room in frustration before flopping down on the bed next to me dressed in nothing but her bra and panties.
“I don't have anything to wear,”
“Except for the blue sundress I suggested a half hour ago,”
“Yeah, but it's so...... Wholesome. What if he thinks it's serious ?” she says with a scrunch of her nose. I stretch out next to her, and she turns her body so we're looking at each other.
“Why bother with a date if you don't want it to be serious? You can just have a casual hook-up if that's all you want,” I ask, and she looks down, her shoulders lifting in a shrug.
“I kind of want someone to take me out because they genuinely want to get to know me, not because they're hoping to get lucky,”
“Then wear the sundress, Sammy. Jeremy from yoga seems like a decent guy,”
“Fine. I'll wear the sundress,” she says with a groan, rolling off the bed and quickly throwing on a T-shirt before joining me again. “Do you know what you're wearing?” she asks, and I shrug my shoulders and roll onto my back, staring up at the cracks in her ceiling.
Paris asked me to have dinner with him at Edens Garden and if I'm honest, I don't feel like going. Something has been off about him since my mother came to visit, and it setting my nerves on edge. Although his actions haven't changed, it still feels like he's slowly pulling away, putting distance between us. He mentioned having something important to tell me, and the uncertainty makes me anxious. I'm scared to find out what it might be.
“What's that face for?” Samara asks.
“What face? I'm not making a face,” I say, pushing my worries all the way to the back of my head.
“She says while making a face. Is it Paris? Do I need to get big Bertha involved?” She asks and her playful yet oddly serious tone eases some of the tension that's been building up inside me.
“No, you're not shooting anyone,” she pouts at my response and sits up, pulling a pillow between her legs.
