Most Everything (Hartbig AU)

vii.

Here I was, upset about requited love that I couldn't have, dragging her into this mess and stressing her out. It wasn't fair to me, let alone her, that I was responsible for how she acted and carried herself. I had to change my state of mind, and fast. If not for my sake, for hers.

--

/ No, I don't like you / I just thought you were cool / enough to kick it / got a beach house I could sell you in Idaho / since you think I don't love you / I just thought you were cute / that's why I kissed you /

Thinkin Bout You --- Frank Ocean

--

I didn't exactly make the first move. Rather, I actually responded when Mamrie asked if I was feeling up to doing anything. I just answered honestly instead of pretending I didn't hear her.

"Hey," she started, clearly not expecting to be heard. "Do you wanna go get lunch or something?"

"Yeah, I could eat," I mumbled.

She looked startled, and really, really worried. "You... You what?"

"I could eat, Mamrie, damn." I forced a laugh. "Is it that weird for a person to be hungry?"

Something flashed in her eyes at my response, but I pretended not to notice, and she pretended nothing had happened. I prayed to every deity I had ever heard of that she wouldn't mention my sudden interest in the world around me.

She shook her head subtly and seemed to move on. "Where do you want to go?"

"Literally anywhere, I just want some food."

"You might want to change your clothes before we leave." I glanced down. I was in a ratty sweatshirt and thin athletic shorts; the tank top from that night still pulled over my torso. It felt kind of like a safety blanket at this point. It held me together, but had the ability to make me feel like a child and reduce me to tears at any moment (which it did frequently).

I pulled myself off of the couch, my muscles creaking in protest as I moved from the position I'd been in for at least a day. "Where is it we're going?"

And with that, things were back to normal.

I knew Mamrie was still worried about me. It couldn't be - and wasn't - possible for me to flip the switch that quickly. But I did my absolute best at trying to hide it. As far as she knew, her best friend was back. Nothing had changed.

On the other hand, she knew everything was different. My sexuality, my emotions, my entire life was being put through a different lens in her eyes now. She knew I wasn't straight. She knew, straight from the drunken source, that I was actually capable of loving someone (although she had already thought I loved Chester). She knew that one of our inseparable trio had been yanked out of their place, with no warning, and no signs of their previous existence.

But I carried on like nothing had happened. For all she knew, those five months or so had just been a figment of her imagination - but then again, there was the irrevocable truth that one of us was missing and not spoken of. She knew the truth for sure.

As for Chester, I had told him something about my phone only accepting calls from numbers not in my contacts, and me not realizing there were incoming calls because it was broken. He probably only believed it because he wanted to; I could hear it in his sigh of relief that I was speaking to him again. Obviously Mamrie had told him at least a sliver of what was going on, but he didn't bring up what he knew, if he knew anything mildly important.

He barely batted an eye at my return. And for that, I was grateful. Being next to him wasn't one hundred percent comfortable, but ... livable. Maybe I could fake my way through loving him, after all.

It didn't matter that I'd rather it was her hand I was grasping as tightly as a lifeline, her jokes I was losing oxygen to, her smile my heart raced at seeing. It didn't matter it didn't matter it didn't matter. It didn't matter because it wasn't true. I did not have feelings for her.

I was back to square one.

On a subconscious level, I'm sure I was frustrated with myself. I knew that, to some degree, I should have been able to confront my feelings without turning into a child without its favorite toy. I knew that I should have been honest with Chester. But my conscious hours were spent worrying and faking, with barely a second left alone to let me really, truly think about anything at all, simply as a result of letting me think too much.

Mamrie and Chester (and all the rest) were, by nature, very protective of me, which was usually a blessing, except for when I needed to figure shit out. Right then, they had decided (of their own accord of course) that they needed to protect me from my own mind.

There was rarely a moment of rest and relaxation, and while I enjoyed the constant motion, perpetual action, I was yearning to think things through. Maybe talk them through, seeing as my mind was currently my greatest enemy.

Obviously I was feeling conflicted as to whether or not I wanted to be alone.

I wanted to talk about things. But not with Mamrie or Chester, they would overreact. And certainly not with her, that would just set in motion the same chain of events. That's when I had one of the craziest idea in my entire life.

I'd talk to Ingrid.

--

I know this one is short, but there's a long shitstorm of a chapter up ahead :^)