The air felt thick and suffocating, mirroring the unspoken tension that crackled between her and Christine.
Emily hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Let's just say it was an eventful night," she mumbled, the words scraping against her parched throat like sandpaper.
"I'll tell you all about it later, but first, I need to take a shower." – a promise to unload the secrets that felt like a lead weight in her gut.
Christine nodded, taking a seat on the couch like a queen claiming her throne. Draped across the leather couch like a languid cat, she tilted her head, her gaze unwavering.
"Take your time, girl," Christine purred, her voice a soothing balm. "This throne ain't goin' anywhere." But the playful lilt was missing, replaced by a quiet concern that etched worry lines onto Christine's smooth forehead.
Her eyes never left Emily's face, a steady gaze that seemed to see right through her – they were like bottomless wells, threatening to swallow Emily whole.
Emily scurried towards the bathroom, the silence screaming louder than any accusation. Relief washed over her as the cool tile met her bare feet, but it was laced with a gnawing unease. Gratitude for Christine's unwavering support battled with the terror of revealing the details of her night with Max. Memories flickered like a strobe light, each frame replaying the raw intensity that left her breathless and shaken. The scent of lavender shampoo filled the air as she scrubbed, a desperate attempt to wash away the lingering ghost of his touch.
******
Stepping out of the shower, Emily found Christine in a different pose. The chips were abandoned on the coffee table, forgotten casualties of her frantic phone scrolling. The screen illuminated Christine's face, casting an eerie, almost spectral glow. Her normally bright eyes were narrowed in concentration, her brow furrowed.
"Hey, you feeling more human?" Christine asked, not looking up, her fingers flying across the keyboard with frightening speed and accuracy that could leave onlookers in awe.
"Yeah, thanks," Emily mumbled, sinking onto the couch beside Christine like a ship seeking safe harbor.
Taking a seat beside her like a pilgrim seeking refuge, Emily added. "So, how long are you thinking of staying?"
A sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of the unspoken. The question hung in the air like a challenge, a test of their friendship.
Christine shrugged, her gaze still glued to the phone screen. "Not entirely sure," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Took a couple of extra days off work, and honestly, the thought of my empty apartment was kinda…depressing."
Hope ignited in Christine's eyes— it was just a flicker, faint but persistent. It danced in the depths like a lone candle flame battling the encroaching darkness.
Emily hesitated, unsure if she was ready for a houseguest. But Christine was her friend, her confidante, her partner in crime. She couldn't turn her away, not now anyway. "Of course, Christine. You're welcome to stay as long as you need." Her words were a vow spoken not just with her lips but with her heart.
"Are you sure you're okay," Christine asked, her voice a touch hoarse. Unlike before, her phone lay dormant on the table, a silent demonstration of her concern for Emily.
It was a silent plea, a beacon urging Emily to share the burdens that weighed her down. They'd always been there for each other, Emily the impulsive daredevil and Christine the voice of reason.
Pushing Christine away, especially now, felt like a betrayal of the unspoken vow that bound their friendship.
"Of course, silly," Emily said, her voice firm despite the tremor running through her.
A twinkle of a smile graced Christine's lips, fleeting but genuine. "Okay, cool," she mumbled, finally tearing her gaze away from the phone entirely. But the moment was shattered as her eyes, sharp and knowing, pierced Emily's facade. "Alright, spill the beans," she demanded, her voice a low rumble. "What really happened last night?"
Emily flinched, the weight of her secret threatening to crush her. "Nothing…really," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She stared out the window, the cityscape blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. Her mind was a battlefield, torn between the desperate need to confide in her best friend and the fear of reliving the night.
"Hey, Em, you with me?" Christine's voice broke through the fog, laced with a hint of concern. "Look, if nothin' happened, why'd you leave in such a hurry? You wouldn't ditch me at a club for no good reason"
Emily's stomach lurched. Christine knew her too well, every twitch and tremor. There was no point in lying, not anymore. Yet, the words wouldn't come. Shame burned in her throat, choking back the confession that threatened to spill. "Like I said," she mumbled, the lie heavy on her tongue, "nothing worth mentioning. Just some jerk who wouldn't take a hint."
Christine crossed her arms, a crease forming between her brows. This wasn't the full story, and they both knew it. She wasn't buying it one bit. It wasn't like Emily to leave her at the club without any notice. Something worth mentioning definitely happened but she didn't want to pester her for it.
Christine, ever the wise friend, recognized the raw vulnerability on Emily's face. Pushing further wouldn't get them anywhere. She'd wait, give Emily all the time she needed. She wanted Emily to tell her on her own terms.