Spotlight |h.s|

Three

Aubrey Hart

I finally make it back to my house, groaning as I shut the door and heading to the living room right away. I jump when Jade is sat on my green velvet couch, a drink in her hand and a bottle on the coffee table.

"I forgot it was Tuesday." I laugh, sitting my bag on the glass table and plopping down next to her.

We have made it a thing to drink after we go to therapy. I go Tuesday's, she goes Thursday's. It's a nice routine that I don't plan to change anytime soon. With what has happened in my life and her's, we'll always go to therapy. This will always be something we do.

"Here you go." She reaches forward and picks up the bottle of whiskey and an empty glass, pouring some for me. She hands it to me and runs a hand through her dyed blonde hair.

"Thank you." I exhale before gulping half of it down, the burn running down my throat and making my body feel more at ease.

"Why are you late?" She asks, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and holding her head up with the palm of her hand, her body turned to face me.

"I had to go to a fitting after my appointment. Harry and I were fighting, so things took longer than they should've." I briefly explain.

"Asshole." She scowls.

She's never met Harry, but she surely does hate his guts. She's a popular photographer who works with many celebrities, but luckily not him. She formed an opinion based on what I've told her about him. Her and I met in college. She's two years older than me. She has been a sort of role model to me since we met over five years ago. So badass and carefree.

"He... he mentioned her today." I'm wary to bring it up, knowing how sensitive the topic is for her as well. Not as sensitive as me, but still very bad.

When someone you've known for five years dies by suicide, the mention of them or anything even remotely eluding to them becomes a sensitive topic. When Elora died, a part of us did, too.

I met her when I was nine, her being the person I was closest to. Due to my life being under the spotlight these past few years, her death made headlines all over. I know she would've hated it, so it pains my heart that it happened. She would like to be honored by so many people, but she never wanted others to know about her struggles. Hell, not even her best friends knew. I didn't know. She was my sister, and I still had no idea.

"I'm going to strangle him." She tenses up, starting to stand before I put a hand on her arm.

"Don't freak out. I wanna forget about it. I just wanted to give an explanation in case I seem even more stressed than usual." I hold her back, making her slowly sit down.

"You don't have to explain. Let's just get drunk and forget about it." She suggests.

I guzzle down my first drink, pouring myself another that I practically inhale in one swift gulp, making her laugh.

"I don't think this'll make me forget. I spent all of therapy crying to Maggie like a baby, and he noticed at the fitting and called me out." I shake my head.

"What a prick," she shakes her head, "I'll distract you somehow. Let me think... Ooh! I have a story!"

"Go for it." I chuckle.

"So today, I'm just doing my thing at work. I'm taking some pictures for Timothée Chalamet for some movie promo. His movie comes out in a month or so, I think." She starts.

"He's so hot." I gush.

"I know! Kinda antisocial, though. Very nice once you get him to talk, but a little shy." she explains, and I nod, "And we're just having a nice conversation or whatever, and this completely messed up guy was walking by. I'm talking on hard drugs. He was stumbling and not even aware of where he was going or anything. He THREW UP on Timothée's jacket!"