But the night stretches out, and she’s haunted by not only her body’s betrayal, but also by flashes of Riley chasing her through that damn bathroom. While she restlessly stares at the ceiling, she keeps telling her brain that she can’t deal with this right now, but it's futile.
The next morning Charlotte isn’t doing much better, and she’s forced to do something she’s never done before: she cancels her clients for the day.
That day turns into two, then three, then the whole week. And while her body slowly recovers, she can’t for the life of her figure out why everything feels so damn dark all of a sudden.
On Friday, her phone buzzes from a text: it’s Riley.
'Hey, I heard you came down with something? Hope you feel better soon!'
The text ends with a stupid, stupid flower emoji and it’s the most offensive thing anyone has ever said to her.
While Charlotte vaguely considers a restraining order because of this completely unreasonable behavior, she comes to the realization that at some point she will have to face Riley again. Her breath catches—what if she’s given Riley the wrong idea? She’s clearly reading into things, or she wouldn’t be reaching out like this.
Would Riley expect more? She can’t have her thinking she has a chance with her now. It was just a stupid one time thing. Riley knows that, right? But what if… what if she doesn’t, and the next time they see each other, Riley kisses her because she thinks they’re in some kind of situationship? Oh god, she’s going to be humiliated in front of her friends, Riley is gonna put her on the spot. She’s probably gonna try to be all cutesy and clingy and… ask to be her girlfriend? Or something? And then she’ll have to explain and turn her down publicly?
Slowly but surely losing the battle to the demons in her mind, Charlotte spirals into multiple full panic attacks. It’s exhausting, the strain it puts on her body and the immense focus she needs to keep breathing when it happens.
Every time her mind brings up Riley, she drowns and drowns, surfaces for a few seconds, only to get pulled under again. She feels completely and utterly betrayed by her body and the loss of control she has over her thoughts.
It incapacitates her for a couple more days, until by Sunday night she figures: she should probably message her. Clear communication is key.
She grabs her phone and spends over an hour formulating her reply to Riley’s well wishes.
'Riley, I’d like to be honest with you, in case I gave you the wrong idea. What happened the other night—it’s probably good we got it out of our system. But I do not wish to pursue anything further and I’d like to emphasize that my romantic preference excludes women. There is nothing wrong with what you are. I don’t think any less of you and I have no judgment whatsoever, but I hope you understand, and we can continue our collaboration as friends.'
There. Crisis averted. She handled that really well. And she isn’t at all nervous about the three dots that appear in their message thread, not even when theydisappear after a minute, quickly reappear, and then disappear again.
Thirty minutes later, her phonedings. Riley’s text contains three words:
'Loud and clear.'
She plans to stay the entire next day in bed too, but Gabi interferes with those plans by sending her a text informing her that she’s out on the porch. Charlotte silently curses her friend’s caring nature but throws on a robe and waddles to the door. She’s about to crack a joke when she swings the door open, but Gabi’sdon’t fuck with me-stare stops her dead in her tracks.
“Have you been outside at all this week?” she asks sternly.
“Uhm—”
“Put on some clothes, we’re going for a walk.”
“Gabi, I’m sick—”
“I don’t care if I have to lift you over my shoulder in that robe. You have 30 seconds.”
Her friend legitimately scares her sometimes, but her brain is too foggy to fight her, so she complies.
They walk to a nearby park, where they stroll in silence for a while. When they are out of earshot from any nearby strangers, Gabi opens the conversation.
“So… how are you feeling?”
Charlotte sniffs loudly. “I’m… recovering. Thanks.”
“Still some flu symptoms?”
“Yeah. It’s really been going—”
“If you’re about to say it’s really been going around, Charlotte I swear—”
“Fine!” Charlotte throws up her hands. When an awkward silence follows, she forces out a cough to prove her point.
