Not Even Friends ° t. holland

▪︎ 24 ▪︎

new york city, new york
2 days later

I HADN'T SPOKEN to Tom in two days. It was easy, dodging his calls and texts; knowing full well that as long as I keep my phone on silent, Tom couldn't reach me. He's too busy on the other side of the damn country to finally get to me.

Harrison's tried to reach me, too. Even Robert, bless that man's heart, told me Tom had talked his ear off in a desperate attempt to pass a message to me. Of course, Robert gave him some advice to give me my space. That's what I need. Space. Privacy. Tranquility.

Aaron and Liz have been my anchors to the world. Aaron brings me food and chews Tom out anytime he notices my discarded phone buzzing with Tom's calls. Liz makes sure I stay hydrated and hygienic; refilling my water bottle and keeping me company during my long, sad showers (for the record, Liz isn't in the shower. She lounges on the vanity with tea and mans the Bose speaker playing Taylor Swift's most recent heartbreak songs). Vita, of course, oversees everything and is constantly holding my life together before I break it apart with my broken heart. She also worked her magic with Julio, getting me out of interviews over the next week. It wasn't anything super-high profile— more social media/10 minute interviews sorta thing. Aaron and Liz could continue without me.

I stayed off social media, barely checking my texts. I basically shut the whole world out, other than the three doing their best to keep me going.

It was around 11:30pm. Vita was showering. Liz and Aaron were retired to their own hotel rooms; after we bid each other goodnight. Aaron made me swear I'd stay off my phone. Liz kissed my cheek.

Vita thought I was sleeping, I think, when she tiptoed to the shower. I'm sure she was stressed out for me, being both my bestie and assistant. It was no secret I was going through the mud, and she was right there with me.

I watched the ceiling fan spun above my bed, feeling insomnia creep in. I was craving some relief to the weird twisty feeling that's been in my tipsy stomach the past few days. I felt so betrayed, it was making me ill.

I shivered as the breeze blown by the fan grazed my skin. I was under the covers, but I was still cold. Tense, too.

My brain and stomach began working with one another, whispering a small inkling of an idea in my head.

Some hot cocoa would be nice right about now.

Hot cocoa, to warm the body and mind. To melt my frigid heart and maybe deliver some bliss to my saddened persona.

It's late, said the angel on my shoulder. Sleep away the craving. Don't go out at night.

Oh, but fresh air would be nice! responded the devil on my opposite side. A quick trip out wouldn't hurt anyone. Easy. Quick. Chocolate!

Hush now. We should rest, said the angel.

Sleep? Impossible. Our brain's too wired and our heart is too hurt. Let's be impulsive, just this once, the devil replied in a singsong tone.

I sat up in bed, running a hand through my hair. Today, the devil won the argument. Hot cocoa errand, it is.

I slipped my shoes on and grabbed a ball cap, zipping on a hoodie as I wrote Vita a quick note.