Beneath still skies: Fear or solace ?

1.

I was practically melting. My clothes clung to me like I had gone swimming in the sauna and got a new layer of skin. My hair looked like it had been dunked in a bucket. I was convinced I was moments away from spontaneous combustion.

Thirty- fucking eight-minutes in the car and my body was staging a rebellion. My brain was only gooey liquid ready to ooze out of my ears.

Ugh. Disgusting 

I tap my cheeks with my hands a multiple times.
Pull yourself together Alysa.

My fingers against the edge of the coffee cup, staring at the glowing screen of my laptop. Guess which coffee I got? A small, extra strong black coffee with one shot of self doubt and a splash of "I'll never finishing this novel". So, here I am with a draft of my latest horror novel sat right there. Unfinished.

 There was a place for everything, but nothing felt right. I wanted to send Julian the draft earlier that morning on exactly 4:20 a.m. Have to blame the "coffee" , unsure if I was ready for his feedback—especially since I have been wrestling with the plot for weeks now. But with a sigh of apprehension, I clicked the send button. There was no going back.

My phone buzzed on the passenger seat of my SUV.

Julian: I've read through it. Got a minute?

I let out a long breath. My heart beat racing

Alysa: Yep

 He'd already read it. What was he? A speed-reading machine on caffeine.

Alysa: Sure. Meet me at "Brewtiful" café.

Julian: Be right there. Don't worry, it's not as bad as you think. And stop biting your nails.

 What the fuck. Was Julian seriously a human or a cyborg. He knows me so well that he knew I was biting my nails. That's my defualt whenever I face a monthly.. no.. weekly writer's block.

 I roll my eyes. "Not as bad as you think" was always Julian's line. Like that made everything better.

Minutes later I arrived at the café, Julian walked through the door, tall and effortlessly composed as always. He scanned the room for me, catching my hazel eyes with his dark brown ones before heading to the table. He dropped his bag on the chair, sat down, and gave me a small, knowing smile.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Or worse—you're about to show me your manuscript, aren't you?"

"Ugh, I'm trying not to die from embarrassment before you even read it again," I muttered, poking my laptop screen. "But yes. You're about to see the latest disaster."

I had written it again, hoping this not-so-stupid bitch would like it.

Julian picked up his coffee and sipped it like he was preparing for battle. "Well, as long as it's not 'another' vampire romance about a brooding guy with a soul-crushing secret, I think we're in the clear."

I shoot him a glare. "I don't need your existential angst right now, Julian. Not in the mood."

"Fine, fine," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But I have high expectations. Your last novel was... let's say, a sli..ghtly overpriced collection of clichés."

I smirk at his words. "Your words, not mine. Let's see if this one's better."

He clicked open the document on my laptop and began scanning through it. I watch his face, trying to read his expression. He always gave nothing away, like he was secretly judging my soul.