I Like You a Latte {Completed}

47 | Escalating the Worry

Beverly snapped awake with wide eyes, her heart beating frantically in her chest. Her eyes flew around the dark room, and it took several beats for her to remember where she was. When she did, she noted that the theater room was still quiet, the clock on the wall indicating it was only ten at night, meaning her nap had lasted just under two hours.

She still felt tired, though, so why on earth had she woken up?

The answer came in the form of a shout.

"Beverly?! Jesus, where the hell are you?!"

Awwww, crap on a cracker.

She should've known that Griffin would return, find her gone, and freak out; she'd probably given the poor guy grey hairs with how many times she'd taken off on him. Taking her blanket with her, she poked her head out of the room, her brows furrowing when she didn't see Griffin in the hall. Either he'd been shouting at the top of his lungs, or he'd already moved back downstairs.

Stifling a yawn, Beverly strode towards the staircase, her steps halting abruptly when she registered the voices coming up from the living room below.

"Did you try calling her?" That was Cynthia, sounding concerned and a bit wary.

"Of course I called her!" and that harsh snapping of words could have only come from her favorite grumpy giant. "But her goddamn phone is still dead!"

Oops, Beverly groaned inwardly, realizing he was right. I forgot about that.

"Griffin, I'm sure she couldn't have gone far." Wait a minute, Francis was still there? Beverly almost wanted to applaud the man—staying in a house and trying to reason with a guy who recently punched you twice took a lot of guts.

Or, perhaps, stupidity. 

"Don't talk to me!" Griffin's voice was an animalistic snarl. "You're lucky I didn't punch you three more times, asshole. I should've—"

Beverly, having heard enough, cut her awfully violent boyfriend off by calling his name, not having to fake the sleep tinging her voice. "Griffin?"

The room below went dead silent for a moment, before, "Beverly!" Following the word came the sound of pounding footsteps, and Griffin was in front of her in the next instant, his skin pale, knuckles busted, and eyes shining with terror.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, his words shaky. "God. Holy shit." Instead of embracing her tightly as she'd first expected he would, he tripped backwards, slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor with his head in his hands.

He kept mumbling words, but Beverly couldn't make them out; a quick glance down the stairwell showed Cynthia and Francis staring up at her, wearing matching expressions of stress and confusion.

Beverly tried to pass them a reassuring grin, knowing perfectly well that it probably looked more like a pained grimace. "Sorry about that," she told them. "I fell asleep." Her eyes shifted to Griffin, who had yet to change positions. "I think I need to handle this one."

Francis and Cynthia nodded in perfect unison, and Cynthia said, "I think you're right. I'll see you both in the morning, alright? I'm going to show Francis out." Upon saying her ex's name, Cynthia's face didn't screw up with disgust, so Beverly figured that was a good sign. She'd have to get the in-depth version tomorrow, though—she had a bigger issue to handle.

Spinning around once the pair had vanished into the entryway, Beverly felt her heart swell with pity at the sight in front of her.

Griffin had fallen apart.