2 | ONE MORE | MINIMINTER

EIGHT

EIGHT

It had been two days since the party at The Shard and since she'd had the chance to talk to Simon again. After they'd spoken, they'd walked back to the party together with a distance between them and only polite conversation drifting through the open space, the space she'd longed to close.

But his distance from her was understandable. Dallas had been gone a long time and now both of them were different people to who they'd been back then. There was no way she'd be able to slide right back into routine with him when things were so incredibly altered from the life they shared at seventeen years old.

Even stubborn Violet was different. As they sat sprawled together in Violet's apartment, Dallas could even see the differences in her features. They were sharper now: more defined and clean-cut. She had also perfected the art of winged eye-liner, which Dallas could remember Marnie trying to teach her many times.

"Vi, do you think Marnie is going to come back?" She asks, causing Violet to look up from editing her video with her lips pressed together in a thin line, which was telling in itself.

"I don't know. What happened was pretty bad and she's not one for confrontation. Maybe she'll visit, but she won't come back for good anytime soon," Violet replies, her nails tapping on her laptop.

"Hm," Dallas hums. "What about Simon? Do you think he'll forgive me?"

And in all her years Violet had never seen Dallas look quite so vulnerable as she sat their chewing her nail with an expression that looked as if she were about to shatter into a million pieces at any second.

"Maybe not for a while, but he will. You know he can't resist you," Violet tells her in response. Watching the face of her friend as she delves deep into thought, she sighs and closes her laptop. "Get your coat. We're going out."

"What? I thought you needed to edit your vlog?"

"Fuck the vlog. Who cares about vlogs when your best friend is sad?"

"Um, all your viewers do?" Dallas' brows raise and her eyes swim with gratitude and anger for the pity she was receiving. "I don't need to go out."

"Yes, you do. So get your sorry ass up and get going," Violet says, hands on her hips and one eyebrow arched signalling that no wasn't an answer.

"I don't want to go out. I have work to do," Dallas says a little more sternly than before, causing Violet to sigh and collapse back onto the sofa beside her. Her head rolls to face Dallas, who can't even look at her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm not going to make you go out if you really don't want to, but you know you're going to have to at some point."

"I just don't want to see her," Dallas mumbles, picking at her nails.

"What are the chances though? We don't even know if she still lives around here," Violet said with a sickening tone of pity laced through her voice. If Dallas was anything like the girl she was all those years ago, she would have told Violet to forget about it, but she wasn't that girl anymore.

"I don't want to take that chance."

"Fine," Violet said, relaxing into the sofa. "But we're going out at some point and next time I'm not leaving you behind."

"Whatever, Vi."

-

Violet had been gone for just over an hour when Dallas finally got off the sofa to get herself some food. It was eight in the evening on a Friday night, but she was at home chewing at her nails and watching the microwave meal spin on the plate as it warmed through and through.

She knew deep down that the chances of running into her mum were minimal, but that minimal chance was all it took to plant the seed of worry in her mind. She didn't even know what she'd say if she saw her, or if she'd even manage to speak at all. It was irrational to be like this: to prefer to stay inside all day everyday to avoid the inevitable. She was going to have to speak to her at some point because that was what she'd promised herself she would do when she came here, but Dallas wasn't so sure she could keep that promise anymore.

It had been ambitious in the first place, but being here made it that much more real. To face the one who had beat her down into a cold, angry pulp sounded like something from a nightmare, in Dallas' mind, and it wasn't something she wanted to intentionally put herself through, but, regardless of want, it was what she needed to do.

The ping of the microwave brought her out of those thoughts for a moment as she grabbed the tea towel to save burning her hands and took the meal from the microwave.

She carried the meal on one of her brand new plates, which she had picked out to match her white kitchen, and sat at the table for four alone with enough thoughts rushing through her head to fill the empty seats.

And then the doorbell went and Dallas froze in place.

-

873 words
I know it's been two months and I'm sorry, but I'm maybe back writing this now??????

edit: thank you to wroetoboyy for the help with the last paragraph wording <3