I suddenly woke up like a speedster at 11:14 AM and rushed to the bathroom to relieve my bladder, realizing I'd be late if I took my time. I quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and ran back to my room to change clothes.
I threw on sweatpants, sandals with socks, and a grey jersey. I didn't look like someone going anywhere, but what can I say? I'm a bare minimum kind of girl. I fixed my hair into a messy bun and grabbed my sunglasses.
Before heading out, I made sure to cover my exposed skin with sunscreen. I haven't forgotten how pale I've gotten—meaning the sun is my worst enemy, and I'll do whatever it takes to avoid getting burned.
When I finished, it was already 11:45. Not enough time to eat, but I still went to the kitchen and prepared some cereal, eating in a rush.
Heather was nowhere to be seen. She was either sleeping—unlikely—or just lying around in her room. Maybe she had errands to run or was working.
I didn't know her well enough to have any idea about her schedule. I hadn't told her I was heading out, but I figured it was fine. Our relationship hadn't reached that point yet. I grabbed my wallet, a gift from my dad on my 16th birthday.
I remembered being disappointed at the time. I pretended to like it, but I'd expected something more. I was like any other girl then—I liked pretty things.
Not necessarily trendy fashion, just things that were plainly pretty. I was hoping for a new, expensive purse, not a wallet that looked like something a middle-aged man in the midst of an existential crisis would carry.
Now, though, I kind of like the wallet—especially since I still haven't fully recovered from my shut-in syndrome. Which it impossible for me, to have enough care to go out the apartment with a purse.
But at least, I get now, wallets rule. And nothing can change my mind on that—at least not yet.
But I'm sure once I get back to liking makeup and pretty things, I won't be using this wallet. For now, I'll enjoy these small, freeing moments before they end.
I grabbed my house keys and left the apartment. In the elevator, I was about to check the time on my phone when I realized I'd forgotten it.
Honestly, I can't blame myself. Besides checking the time, calling my parents, or playing games in bed, I hardly use my phone. I could go back for it, but it wasn't necessary. Sarah had texted me after our call, telling me exactly where to meet her at the mall, so I figured I'd be fine.
When I got outside, I hailed a cab. As soon as I got in, I instantly regretted not going back for my phone and calling an Uber instead. The cab smelled awful. I rolled down the window and told the unhygienic driver to get me to Fallsgate Mall as fast as possible.
When we finally arrived, I paid the driver with the last bit of cash I had and got out—gladly. I took a moment to gather myself and then walked toward the mall.
My heart sped up with every step. This was more frightening than I anticipated. Maybe I should've begged Heather to come with me, in case things went sideways.
I entered the mall and headed for the escalator. I was going to the café on the third floor, the place we used to relax after shopping. I guess even Sarah can get sentimental sometimes—not that it'll do me any good. She's probably using this place to guilt-trip me.
As I approached the café, my palms grew sweaty, no matter how many times I wiped them. I could practically hear my heart pounding.
Before even entering, I saw her sitting by the window alone, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. She was dressed casually in jeans and a tank top, but she still looked extraordinary.
I've always wondered how it's possible that I never fell in love with her.
I stepped into the café and approached her table. She barely acknowledged me, her fingers flying over her phone as she smiled at whoever she was texting.
I sat down across from her, waiting for her to finish. Not because I wasn't capable of interrupting her, but because I needed time to steel my nerves. Our friendship hung in the balance.
She seemed to enjoy ignoring me, while I took the chance to appraise her after three years apart. She hadn't changed—still radiant as before. Oval-shaped face, light brown skin, curly brown hair, and an hourglass figure that turned heads wherever she went. I told her once that she'd end up a model with that face. She hadn't believed me, but now look at her.
"I thought you'd ditch me, like you did that summer. So, I'm a little surprised," Sarah said, setting her phone down and taking off her sunglasses. She gave me a lighthearted smile, but her dark brown eyes screamed murder. She was pissed.
Sarah's always been the type to hide her anger, frustration, and sadness behind a smile, not realizing her eyes were more honest than anything else.
I can't blame her for being mad, but it pissed me off that she was directing her anger at me when she hadn't done anything to help me when I needed her most.
Her smile strained, and her eyes grew fiercer. "Eva, there's no one who knows you better than I do. And your eyes tell me you're blaming me for our friendship suffering, right?"
Am I that much of an open book? Her smile widened, but her eyes turned even more intense. If looks could kill, I'd be dead right now.
"And why shouldn't I blame you? Did you even try to reach out when I ghosted you, or did you just decide, 'Oh, she's depressed,' and moved on with your life? Looks like you've had a great life—now that you're famous and all."
I saw her hand clench into a tight fist, her smile fading. Her knuckles turned white, and her eyes went bloodshot with the anger she was holding back.
She shifted slightly, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I flinched. Sarah and I have had physical altercations before, and they always ended with her winning. She was a barbarian, and I'm still a little fearful of her.
She noticed my reaction, unclenched her hand, and took a slow, deep breaths.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to fight you—not here, where people can see. I refuse to ruin my image for the satisfaction of slapping your face. So, I'll be civilized and ignore the nonsense coming out of your mout—"
"Nonsense it might be, but isn't it true? Did you really try to even—"
"I tried!" Her raised voice drew attention, but she didn't care. "I tried and tried and tried, but you shut me out. Or have you forgotten how, after weeks of tracking you down and finding you in your new apartment, you ignored me like years of friendship meant nothing to you?"
It felt like she had slapped me, and I couldn't do anything but gape at her. Tears stung my eyes as I saw Sarah's own tears start to fall.
Anguish, resignation, guilt, self-mockery, rage, and sadness were etched on her face like permanent ink on a whiteboard.
"I knocked, remember? I knocked every day for a week. I called, I texted. I couldn't go to your parents for help because I knew you wouldn't want that, but I still went to them. And in the end, you treated me like I was nothing. For God's sake, I..."
She didn't finish. There were no more words, just silent tears and humiliating stares from the other café patrons.
Yeah, I was right about one thing. I am a selfish person. As the events of the past I'd been suppressing came rushing back, I started to see just what kind of person I was. And I couldn't have been more disgusted.