Stitches

0.8

Mia bombards me with questions, completely ecstatic at the 'fucking sex on legs' that she found in my room. I managed to push her out, promising it's not that exciting and we'll speak in the morning. I burrowed into the sheets, pulling my pillow over my head. My cheeks were still burning, and I couldn't stop Mia's knowing smirk from playing on repeat in my mind. She really had walked in at the absolute worst moment—right after that stupid kiss.

A kiss that felt like it cracked something open inside me, something I hadn't even known was there, but that I couldn't shove back down no matter how hard I tried. I turned over, groaning. It wasn't just that Harry was the single most irritating person I'd ever met. He was arrogant and aloof, rarely revealing even a glimpse of something other than anger or judgment in those dark eyes of his. But every so often, that guarded exterior would shift just enough to give me a glimpse of something softer, something that almost seemed to hurt. And that kiss...it felt like he'd slipped up, letting me see a side of him he didn't want anyone to see.

I pressed my lips together, shaking my head against the pillow. Maybe Mia was right. Maybe it was better that he was gone. Not that I'd admit it to her. Her endless barrage of "Well, well, well" and "So, hot mystery man, huh?" had been more than enough. I'd already told her that nothing was going on and it meant nothing. Which, technically, was true.

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The days passed, and the mysterious car I'd half-wondered about had disappeared along with him, leaving nothing but an odd sense of emptiness in its place. I threw myself into work, picking up shifts at the hospital, volunteering longer hours at the addiction center, anything to keep myself from wondering how I kept seeing him  or why he'd kissed me like that only to vanish.

The addiction center was the one place I could go to escape every buzzing thought that plagued me. There was something about being around people who were fighting their own battles that helped me put everything in perspective. My problems, however persistent they seemed in the dark of night, felt like a candle next to the flames some of the people here were facing daily

The center was tucked between a rundown laundromat and a used bookstore, one of those places you could miss if you blinked while driving by. It was nondescript, with chipping gray paint and a flickering neon sign that struggled to spell out "Community Outreach." But inside, it had a warmth that the outside didn't show—a sense of home, even for those who had none. I'd always thought there was something comforting in its worn furniture, the way the walls were painted in soft, soothing colors of dusty blues and greens, colors chosen to ease anyone who walked through the door.

As I stepped inside, the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the smell of old coffee hit me. To my left was a small waiting area, lined with mismatched chairs and a threadbare couch that had probably been donated a decade ago. The walls were covered in posters promoting hope, healing, and support. Some had cheesy sayings on them like "One Day at a Time" and "You Are Not Alone," but I always found myself pausing to read them, drawn to their simplicity. For so many who came here, those words were a lifeline. I'd seen it in their eyes.

Behind the front desk sat Margaret, a middle-aged woman with curly gray hair and the kind of presence that could make you feel safe with a single look. She was on the phone, but when she saw me, she waved enthusiastically, mouthing "Good morning!" I waved back, grinning. Margaret was one of those people who made everyone feel like family. She knew all the regulars by name, their stories, their struggles, and she treated each one with the same care.

"Piper, you're a saint for coming in today," she said, setting the phone down with a wink. "The kids have been running us ragged since seven this morning!"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm ready," I said, though I wasn't sure that was completely true. But seeing Margaret's warm smile always made it easier to be here, even on days when I felt like my own life was barely holding together. She handed me a clipboard with today's volunteer list and nodded toward the back rooms, where most of the supplies were stored.