slumber talk

8: Make A Move

I couldn't speak for a few seconds, couldn't even breathe.

"WHAT?"

Definitely couldn't begin to process the enormity of what he'd just spat out at me. So casually, too – like a cat puking carrion at its loving master's feet.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY??"

Hassan looked pretty disturbed. I knew this because even though I was consumed by this newest spanner in the machinery, vibrating in my seat, with the futility of what I still couldn't comprehend sweltering like hellfire up the nape of my neck, his figure had melded into the furniture with a terrifying sort of stillness. Completely frozen save for the snapping of his sharp earthy eyes from my hands to my knees to the emotions burning through my face.

"What – what do you mean –"

"Her sister?? Anna's her sister??"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, guttering like a fish out of water as I got up from my chair. His irises spilled fear and concern.

"Um –"

"Her SISTER?!"

Hassan swallowed loudly, lips wringing themselves in regret. "Yeah."

A silent, shocked gasp finally dropped from my own. I covered them with a quivering hand.

"Her sister," I repeated, crushing the weight of the words against my palm. I shook my head at the thought of it. "Fuck me."

The bearer of bad news in my periphery pulled away from the background to sway hesitantly before me. "Are – are you –"

"Did you ever THINK to tell me about this?" I snapped, glaring at him.

His hands moved half-heartedly up his chest. "I – I thought ..." Hassan stammered through his pathetic attempt at surrender, or shrug of dismissal. "I thought you knew. I mean, not all of it, obviously, but –"

"I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO TRISHA WAS; HOW THE HECK WOULD I KNOW ANNA WAS HER FUCKING SISTER??"

"Yes, I – that's starting to become clear now."

I took in a deep breath to try and steady myself, to at least attempt from stumbling too far into psychotic.

Turning to face the view outside the window, staring desolately at the landscape, the formless wind buffeting the trees and the lashings of rain that bounced against the glass with aggressive spontaneity, I forced the frustration brimming once again atop my eyes to stay within their fickle pool.

"They must all know, then," I heard myself say. Quietly, though. I kept my eyes trained on an unremarkable cloud and my voice as even as I could. "Trisha and Anna grew up here. This must be ... common knowledge."

It was a question that pretty much answered itself. Of course everyone knew. Jeremy and Trisha were a homespun love story; Anna, being a key member of the supporting cast, must have been jolted to light as and when they reached their pinnacle of stardom. I could only imagine how she'd dealt with it. Shy, sweet Anna – who was awkward and jittery around her closest of friends, so Lord knows how she fared in the midst of public scrutiny.

Another thought popped into my head. An unbidden, bone-chilling, brutal call to reality.

"Does Tiffs know?" I asked.

The room sharpened into crisp focus behind me. A tick of the clock oozed by with easy, languid elasticity, bouncing off the wall and the floor and hitting Hassan in his chest, mapping him out through his uncertainty and discomfort.