... :D
I am alive!
She is completely mental. It's three in the morning and she's standing in front of his door; her fist's been raised for the past ten minutes, waiting for an excuse to knock.
In the back of her mind, Mitchie knew she was there because of the panic attack she'd had that night; the rest of her frantically searched for a reason to be there, coming up empty. Of course, he'd know what it was the second he opened the door; her eyes bloodshot, her muscles locked, her trembling hands and tear tracks on her cheeks.
It wasn't the first time she'd done this- show up to his door uninvited. They were friends now, he came over to her house often enough. There was a time when he'd shown up drunk out of his mind and proceeded to lay down on every available surface in her loft while muttering the Suite Life on Deck theme song. She took pictures of it, obviously.
But even though she knew she could talk to him about these things, like he so openly discussed his fears and actions with her, Mitchie still held back, trying to stay in her gray zone. Nothing good came out of telling anyone about what happened to her. The knowledge would only weight heavily on him and the last thing Mitchie wanted was to give him something else to worry about.
She left then, consumed by what she called good judgement, but was really a disguise for her fright.
Shane called around two in the afternoon, asking to meet up at a coffee shop not far from her house. She agreed readily, as she was already searching for a reason to drop trying to write.
The coffee shop was tiny, warm and bustling with people, none of which recognized her. There was mistletoe hanging over the windows and the doors, snowmen in the windowsill and little golden bells lined up on the counter. Behind it stood a plump woman, her eyes the color of carrot cake and her cheeks a bright pink. She took orders efficiently and quickly, her smile never fading and her tone always cheery when she wished someone a happy holiday, even though it wasn't that time of the year yet.
But, as her mother used to say, it's never too early for Christmas.
He was sitting at the back, his eyes glued to his phone. He just looked up when he heard her sit down.
"Hey."
"Hey. What's up?"
"I kinda need your opinion on something."
Mitchie narrowed her eyes. "It's not anything related to family or romance, is it? Because I'm terrible with those."
"No- well, yes."
"Then you called the wrong girl, Gray."
"I wanna talk to my mother." He said. She fell silent. "B-because it's Christmas. And she likes Christmas. And my father too."
"Um, Shane-"
"I know you're uncomfortable with these kinds of things, but I can't really talk to anyone else."
"So what do you want from me?"
"I don't know. Reassurance? A speech? A smack upside the head because I can't expect to be welcomed back into their lives after everything I've done the past years?"
"They're family. Of course they'll welcome you back."
"Would your parents do it?"
Mitchie focused on the napkins next to his left hand, searching for patterns to distract her. "No parents. Just mother. And yes, I think she would have."
He watched her, probably trying to gauge if he'd manage to weasel out more information from her. When she didn't meet his eyes, Shane reached out and carefully touched her hand with his own.
"Just a mom?" He asked quietly.
"Yeah."
Obviously, he wanted to ask. He wanted to know why. Mitchie wasn't used to people caring about her now, or about her past or her future, and she didn't know how to respond to it. Concern was something she'd forgotten about after she turned eighteen, except at the times where Caitlyn got shitfaced and landed on jail or asked her to pick her up at a seedy bar. When none of this things were a factor, she was out of depth. Especially when the concern was aimed at her.
But Ella said she should share something with him; it wasn't the cause for her insomnia, but it was a big thing nonetheless. Shane told her about the record label and the end of his contract within days of their acquaintance and hadn't pressed for anything in return; but maybe he didn't have to. Maybe that was just a part of normal friendships.
"My mother raised me and Nate by herself." She said, watching the street. "We lived on a poorer part of New York- ruled by gangs and dealers. We studied far from it, mostly because it was dangerous and because my mom didn't want us to get involved with the more violent kids. She had two jobs, rarely stayed at home. When she did, she was so tired that all she could do was say hi and crash onto the couch. As I got older, I got a few jobs here and there to cover some expenses and let my mom loosen her working hours. She only asked for vacation during Christmas."
"What about your father?"
"Absent."
Shane squeezed her hand. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"Telling me."
"We're friends." She gave him a small grin.
"Yes."
"Now, you should talk to your parents. Everyone should spend Christmas with someone. They probably miss you, Shane."
"I guess." He shrugged. "I'm not the same person, though."
"No one is."
"What if I have changed too much? What if I'm more like the jackass I portrayed than I think I am?"
"You're nothing like a jackass."
"You can't know that. You didn't meet me when I was full-on popstar Shane. People cowered."
"Changing doesn't mean your parents will love you any less. And if you were a jackass, I'd let you know."
"Let me know," he scoffed theatrically. "You'd punch me."
"Damn straight," she picked up her menu. "Now, we've been sitting here for almost half-an-hour and still haven't had coffee."
"Caffeine junkie."
"You smell like coffee, Shane. Don't point fingers at me."
"You know how I smell? That's a little creepy, Mitchie, even for you."
"I'm a novelist- it's my job to notice things!"
"You're making excuses."
"It's not an excuse. It's an explanation."
"Lies." He said with a straight face, grabbing her menu and opening it. "I'm not falling for the act, Torres. You have a crush on me. I can sense it."
"No, I don't. I like bad boys. You're not one."
"Oh, no," Shane gasped, making her have to hide a smile. "What gave me away?"
"Your little lip trembling thing when you mentioned your mother."
"Everyone has a weak spot, Torres. Family is my kriptonite."
"Oh, please, you're so not Superman."
"Batman."
"You're Aquaman."
The other costumers started to stare at the two young adults. With Shane's status as the hottest celebrity around and the movie adaptation for her book, it was a matter of minutes before someone recognized them. But Mitchie realized she didn't mind.
"That's it- you're out of my will. No money for you."
"I don't need your money. I'm self-sufficient."
"You're such a hard woman to be friends with. Can't even pay for anything. Gosh. Girls usually ask for the opposite."
"You need new friends. Speaking of which," her eyes lit up as she remembered something. "Caitlyn's inviting you to the launch of her friend's galleria. She said she won't be offended if you don't come, but that it's fun there."
Shane furrowed his brows. "You're going?"
"Yes. So is Jason, Nate and Ella. Basically, all my friends want to meet you."
"That's kinda intimidating. And I might distract the guests."
"Go incognito. Get a fake mustache."
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"I suppose I could come. Mustache-less. When is it?"
"This weekend. I know you're still taping some stuff here in NY and that in two weeks you're off to God-knows-where, but everyone's going too and it'd be nice to be friends with your co-workers."
They gave their orders to the teenage waitress, whose face quickly uplifted when she spotted them. Obviously, she must have been one of Shane's fans, because of the half-awed and half-terrified look she had. Mitchie tried to turn her voice into something calmer, but she also knew who she was and it only served to starstruck her further. When she left, Shane was suppressing a grin.
"I suppose." He said in answer to her previous argument. "But only if you give me a list of ground rules so that I won't be completely lost."
"Alright." Mitchie took out her phone. "Let me tell Caitlyn."
"I think we'll soon be swarmed by paparazzi." Shane said thoughtfully. "But I really want some cake."
She barely glanced at him. "I just want coffee. And I'm getting used to the paparazzi. They're not so bad with me as they are with you, though."
"Glad to hear it. They're evil."
Mitchie locked her phone and raised an eyebrow at him. "You punched one in the face in October."
"Justified."
"To the court, maybe, but I'm not about to go near you with a camera."
"I wouldn't punch you!"
"I know. It's a precaution."
"You're just as bad as them."
"I'm worse."
"I'm not sharing my cake with you."
"Betrayal." She waved her fork at him. "I'm killing your character off. That is, if I actually manage to do some writing."
"Writer's block?" He asked.
"Yes. Well, actually, not really- I have an idea, but I'm having trouble fleshing it out the way I want to."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. Meanwhile, we're eating this real quick and getting the hell out because I doubt you want your picture in the papers."