Shining Distraction [slow updates]

.SEVEN.

"I met you in the dark, you lit me up. You made me feel as though I was enough..." --Say You Won't Let Go, James Arthur

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Let's face it -- waiting sucks. There is no doubt about it. Whether you are sitting in the stuffy lobby of your doctor's office, full of disgruntled people antsy to be seen or maybe you are counting down the days until the release of that last book in the sci-fi mystery series that you've fallen in love with, positively obsessed with finding out whether the hero can save the damsel and the world before his time runs out.

It really doesn't matter what the situation might be, if you are waiting on something or someone, you are probably feeling one of two ways: annoyed or anxious. In all honestly, there is a good chance you are a mixture of both, itching to get it over with but nervous about what will happen after it's all said and done. The act of waiting itself is, more often than not, a mess of emotions with the end result either being everything you'd dreamt it would be or, heaven forbid, an absolute nightmare.

Today, I'm hoping for a miracle.

I have been sitting in this restaurant for twenty minutes, nervously tapping away at my phone, praying that Will may have to cancel our lunch plans and I can put off telling him anything about Harry or my history with him until after I've gotten this interview over with. When I receive a text from him informing me it'll only be five more minutes, my stomach lurches and I slam back the espresso shot I'd previously been sipping on.

It was going to take a lot more than a strong coffee to get me through this lunch but it was too early in the day for hard liquor... at least according to Matilda.

I was a mess of nerves all morning, the butterflies stomping around in my gut had been present since I received Will's text last night. I felt awful for not even thinking to call him right away to unload everything but, truth be told, I wasn't even sure I could do it now. I should have done it sooner, when I could have used tequila as a buffer. Dammit.

The longer I sit here alone, the easier it becomes to try to talk myself out of telling Will anything at all about Harry. My brain still hasn't quite figured out why I am so dead-set on self-sabotaging myself and my relationship over something that happened so long ago. In the end, however, my conscience shows up to tell me I would feel worse for neglecting to tell him and I decide I've got to do it.

People continue to hustle by around me, restaurant patrons and guests of the hotel alike are rushing in and out of the place. From my seat at the small table in the middle of the dining room, bathed in sunlight and warmth from the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the building, I catch sight of Will rushing through the doors, his necktie tossed up over his shoulder from the wind and his black leather briefcase dangling from his fingers. He takes a moment to correct his disheveled appearance before scanning the restaurant, his dark brown eyes softening slightly when they land on me and I can't stop the smile that dances across my lips.

This seems to be my mind and body's automatic response whenever he is near me. It always has been, right from the very start.

Will and I met in the middle of February this year, when we were both invited to an Anti-Valentine's Day party hosted by a mutual friend. Under normal circumstances, I would never attend such an event, especially on a Friday night, but, for whatever reason, I let Kate convince me to go on the promise that she would be there with me. She, of course, decided against it at the last minute when Eric swooped in, apologizing for whatever he'd done this time around and the two of them were 'on' once again, refusing to leave her bedroom. I was forced to go alone after that, mildly disgusted but silently rejoicing when I learned about the open bar. I chose a stool at the farthest corner of the worktop as my own and had planned to remain perched there for most of the night.