sorry to just turn up. i tried calling. (from ashley?)
Jessica glances up from where she’s seated, her feet tucked beneath her on the edge of the bed, one knee pulled close to her chest. The room feels too quiet, too still— like the walls are closing in & she can't shake the tension that’s settled into her bones. She smiles, but it’s tight, like she’s trying to fit herself into a space she doesn’t quite belong.
“ Oh, don’t worry about it, ” she says, brushing the back of her hand across her forehead, her fingers grazing the messy strands of hair that fall loose from her ponytail. “ I mean, who needs phones, right? People can just show up whenever they feel like it. Totally fine. ” Her words come out with that light, teasing tone she’s always used to deflect attention, to keep the mood light. It’s easy, almost second nature, to mask whatever she’s really feeling with that upbeat, careless front. It’s easier than admitting the truth, anyway.
She glances around the room, the stillness almost suffocating now & forces herself to look back at Ashley. It’s all too easy to act like nothing’s wrong, to pretend like the creeping feeling in her chest doesn’t exist. She crosses her arms, trying to force some space between her & whatever weird, gnawing sense of discomfort is clawing at her. “ I wasn’t exactly doing anything important. ” She shrugs, attempting to sound casual, though the weight of her own words feels like a lie, an attempt to cover up the fact that the night feels wrong— something off about it, something she can’t quite place.
She doesn’t let her gaze linger for too long, focused instead on the low light spilling through her bedroom window, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. She traces a finger along the blanket, her mind drifting for a moment, disconnected. It’s easier to pretend. It’s easier to just . . . keep going.
