Not Just Acting (Negovanman)

Chapter 11

No messages from her yet. It has been two days. That's not too long, but she used to text me in the morning or some other time throughout the day. I'm beginning to worry about her. She was really down last time I saw her. What if something happened that I don't know about? I decide on calling up Sharon to see if she knows anything.

"Hello?" she answers with her usual, cheerful voice.

"Hey, Sharon." I twirl my long hair around my pointer finger. "Have you heard anything about Natasha?"

"No, not since I've last seen her at the movies. Why?"

"I just... haven't heard from her. I think something is wrong." I bite my lip as I think of all the possibilities of what Natasha could be up to right now. She could be crying in her room, she could be in jail, she could be... dead in a ditch. Oh god, my mind is not thinking straight right now.

"Why do you think that?" Sharon asks in a curious tone.

"She seemed upset when she dropped me off the other day, like someone or something at the movie theater really bothered her and stuck to her even after we left." I rub my eyes and frown. "I don't know what it could have possibly been, so I don't know how to help her."

"If you think it's that bad, maybe you should visit her," she suggests.

"Really? But what if she's too upset and yells at me to go away or what if she gets even more upset when I show up? What if I'm the problem?" I begin to say hysterically. "What if she suddenly realized she doesn't like me if she even likes me now? What if-"

"Damn, Elise, get your shit together." Sharon laughs as my sudden outburst of insecurities. Yeah, really hilarious. "You're perfectly fine. You didn't do anything wrong. It had to be something at the theater. You should go visit her, talk to her for a bit. Maybe ease into what has been upsetting her."

"That's probably a good idea." Wise Sharon strikes again. "Thanks."

"No problem, Elise," she says. "Good luck."

"Thank you." I smile. "Bye."

"Bye." Sharon hangs up.

I sigh loudly. I don't want to visit Natasha. I mean, I do because I really want to see her, but her upset reasons are unknown to me. I could make it worse. I'm not good at confronting someone like this. I have to though. It'll only show her how much I care, and I want to help her. She doesn't deserve to be unhappy.

I whistle a slow tune, almost sad, as I head to my car. I walk through a puff of cigarette smoke along the way, glaring at the guys who blew it right in my face. He checks me out without trying to hide it, even after being a complete jerk by blowing smoke in my face. What a pig.

I hurry along to my car. I pause at the steering wheel for a second, debating if I should even go, before backing out of my parking spot. I can't turn back now. Well, I could... but you know... never mind.

The drive feels surprisingly short, giving me less time to think about what I'm going to say or do. I'm going to completely screw this up, aren't I?

Well, here goes nothing. I knock on her door three times, my usual limit. I wait patiently for about a minute before I hear footsteps. I swallow down my nervousness and smile as Natasha opens the door. She, not to be rude, looks disheveled. Her hair is wild and uncombed, there's a stain on her white shirt, and she's wearing wrinkled sweatpants that seem to have been on her body for the last two days. How could she have gotten like this from one little thing? Maybe it not being a "little thing" is the real problem.

"Hi, Natasha," I say cheerfully with a smile.

"Hey." She doesn't smile or offer for me to come inside. She just leans against the door and stares at me. "Excuse me for looking like shit."