Made
Don't Get that Sinking Feeling
When they made it into Jen's apartment, she was already there, dancing around in impossibly short shorts and singing along badly to the song on the radio. She practically squealed in delight at seeing the two of them, and wrapped them both in a tight hug.
Laila put her bag on the couch, and Jen used that time to poke him in the ribs and lead him into the kitchen.
"I hope she wasn't too much trouble," she whispered. He merely nodded, trying very hard not to let his gaze drift to her tanned legs. "She just got out, and I wasn't sure how she'd react to you."
"Out?" he repeated.
"Rehab," a male voice answered, coming up behind him. He didn't have to look to know that it was her boyfriend.
"Rehab?" he echoed, turning around to face him. He felt like a parrot.
"She just stopped eating one day. Wouldn't tell anyone what was wrong." Nick was clad in a black shirt, jeans, and the black-rimmed glasses he had stolen off the set. He must have gotten there just before the two of them did.
"Can I smoke?" Laila asked, startling all three of them. Her voice was quiet, which he'd noticed before, but was completely lacking in the bravado from the bar. She looked very young suddenly.
When no one answered, she asked again. "Can I smoke?" Her question was directed at Jen, as it was her apartment, but she was looking at Nick, staring him down.
Nick answered no at the same time that Jen said yes. Laila scoffed. "Make up your fucking mind," she said, walking back to the couch.
"She's a bit hostile," Nick said, trying to lighten the mood. The oven beeped, making him jump. He felt like he hadn't slept in days, and was suddenly exhausted from the journey, which hadn't taken more than forty-five minutes. "You hungry?" Nick asked, ever hospitable. "We were gonna eat and then show Laila around. You should join us."
"No," he said, easily. He wanted to go home. Jen had disappeared, flitting into the living room to talk to Laila. He could hear their chatter, animated, as though they were gossiping birds. He turned to leave, to say goodbye to the three of them, and back to the familiarity of his own neighborhood and his own house. But Nick put his hand forcefully on his forearm, halting his movements.
"You should join us," he said again, genially, but the hand on his arm was anything but. He really wanted to leave, but had a cold feeling in his gut that the next repetition of the phrase wouldn't be as friendly.
"Yeah, alright," he said, and the force on his arm suddenly vanished, and Nick's jovial smile returned.
"Great! I'll tell Jen."
Laila put her bag on the couch, and Jen used that time to poke him in the ribs and lead him into the kitchen.
"I hope she wasn't too much trouble," she whispered. He merely nodded, trying very hard not to let his gaze drift to her tanned legs. "She just got out, and I wasn't sure how she'd react to you."
"Out?" he repeated.
"Rehab," a male voice answered, coming up behind him. He didn't have to look to know that it was her boyfriend.
"Rehab?" he echoed, turning around to face him. He felt like a parrot.
"She just stopped eating one day. Wouldn't tell anyone what was wrong." Nick was clad in a black shirt, jeans, and the black-rimmed glasses he had stolen off the set. He must have gotten there just before the two of them did.
"Can I smoke?" Laila asked, startling all three of them. Her voice was quiet, which he'd noticed before, but was completely lacking in the bravado from the bar. She looked very young suddenly.
When no one answered, she asked again. "Can I smoke?" Her question was directed at Jen, as it was her apartment, but she was looking at Nick, staring him down.
Nick answered no at the same time that Jen said yes. Laila scoffed. "Make up your fucking mind," she said, walking back to the couch.
"She's a bit hostile," Nick said, trying to lighten the mood. The oven beeped, making him jump. He felt like he hadn't slept in days, and was suddenly exhausted from the journey, which hadn't taken more than forty-five minutes. "You hungry?" Nick asked, ever hospitable. "We were gonna eat and then show Laila around. You should join us."
"No," he said, easily. He wanted to go home. Jen had disappeared, flitting into the living room to talk to Laila. He could hear their chatter, animated, as though they were gossiping birds. He turned to leave, to say goodbye to the three of them, and back to the familiarity of his own neighborhood and his own house. But Nick put his hand forcefully on his forearm, halting his movements.
"You should join us," he said again, genially, but the hand on his arm was anything but. He really wanted to leave, but had a cold feeling in his gut that the next repetition of the phrase wouldn't be as friendly.
"Yeah, alright," he said, and the force on his arm suddenly vanished, and Nick's jovial smile returned.
"Great! I'll tell Jen."