Diana

Given the choice between having a good night's sleep or having a good poop, I'd choose the former. I've had so many nights where I barely slept a wink and got very sick because of it. I don't want a repeat of that if I can help it.

So, when I wake up feeling good, especially after everything that happened yesterday, to say I am shocked is an understatement.

I expected that I wouldn't catch any sleep at all, toss and turn all night, berate myself for my actions and loss of control on my emotions. I expected that by the time my alarm goes off, I'd be so wide awake and so emotionally exhausted.

But after having a good cry last night, I must've fallen into a deep, restful sleep.

I sit on my bed carefully, waiting for the familiar heaviness on my shoulders. It doesn't come. Next, I place both of my palms flat on my bed, slowly moving them in circles. I wait for the distressing tingling on my fingers that comes with anxiety. It's not there.

Other than my sore eyes from the crying jag I had last night, everything feels okay.

I am still worried about the apartment situation, but the apprehension I feel from that right now doesn't even compare to what I expected to suffer this morning. Despite of everything, I almost feel... good.

This is weird.

I get up, fluff my pillows, and fold my blanket neatly. I walk to my galley kitchen and make my cup of instant coffee, finish half of it standing by the sink, and throw the rest down the drain. I make my list of things to do for the day and tape it on my front door.

Everything still feels okay.

Setting the shower on hot, I take my time shampooing my hair. I step out of the shower, apply lotion, mascara on my short lashes and lip balm on my chapped lips, dry my hair, and put it up in a ponytail. I wear my usual work outfit: hoodie and yoga pants. All the while thinking about why I don't suffer the usual effects of a guilt trip after blowing up last night on him.

It's a mystery. This has never happened before. And I want to know what I did so I can keep doing it.

Maybe because I had a good cry last night. But that's nothing new.

Maybe because it was only a mini breakdown. I didn't say much to him. Just a Shut up is hardly blowing up. But it hardly matters how big or small the breakdown is to me because it's about how I perceive my behaviour. Just reacting strongly in anger usually makes me feel horrible.

So why don't I feel the usual horrible result?

The memory of Thorne in the stairway flits across my mind. I push it away, but it's insistent.

Is it because of his reaction? There was no look of disgust or derision on his face. He is the first person who did not do what I've come to expect from people after my outburst. I didn't feel guilty because he didn't look offended or judgmental.

As though it's okay to be angry.

I don't like that I'm a sensitive person. It makes things harder for me. I remember the therapist telling me I am too hard on myself, judge myself harshly when the emotions I feel are normal. She encouraged me and tried hard to help me let go of my guilt.

"Do not look at yourself as someone who had committed a huge mistake, Diana. You can't go through life without making them. Everyone is on the same boat, can't you see?" She smiles at me kindly. "Instead, look at yourself as someone who is trying her best to become a better person. As someone who has so much potential. Learn to forgive yourself as you forgive others, be generous to yourself as you are generous with others. Love yourself, Diana."

I pick up my backpack, sling it on my shoulder, and step out of my apartment. Rubbing the tip of my thumb with my forefinger, I stare at Viola's front door.

I love myself enough not to enter The Lion's den. Because surely, he's staying here. But shit, I have to feed Sweetheart.

Maybe I don't have to feed Sweetheart today. Grabbing my phone, I Googled How long can a fish live without food?

Viola is paying you to take care of her fish.

And that's enough reason for me. I am very particular with money. She pays me, I show up. I show up, I expect to be paid. It's what my grandmother taught me. I take a deep breath, let it out slow.

Should I knock? Shit, shit, and everything shit.

I do. My mouth feels dry as I wait, but there is no answer. I knock again. Nothing. I take another deep breath and use my key.

I know immediately the apartment is empty. I am relieved that he's not here. Has he gone home, wherever that is? The place looks just as I left it yesterday. Maybe something in the TV got out and absorbed him inside or a huge monster came out of the toilet and took him away.

After feeding Sweetheart, I check Viola's bedrooms to make sure. My heart skips a beat as I spot his suitcase in the guest bedroom. Does that mean he's staying for a few days? But Viola isn't here.

Maybe he didn't know Viola is on vacation and he wanted to surprise her, but after finding out his grandmother is not here, maybe he'll go home today. I decide that he'll surely go home and this will be like it never even happened.

The drive to campus only takes fifteen minutes. It's a very nice, sunny day. The kind of day where nothing can go wrong. But I have been driving around the streets for ten minutes now looking for parking, and it looks like all the spots close to the campus are taken.

I don't like to park on the campus parking lot because it's so expensive, but I'm going to be late if I don't head there now. I join the queue of cars lined up for the parking meter. The parking barrier gate lifts and the car in front of me moves forward. It's my turn. I dig through my backpack for my wallet and feel a punch of anxiety when I can't find it. Where the hell is it?

I go through all my pockets and can't find it. Frustrated, I check my mirror and see a few cars behind me. I won't be able to back up and I can't move forward without paying.

I jump when I hear a honk behind me.

"I know, okay? What am I supposed to do? Fly?"

I slide my window down to press the help button on the parking meter when I see the driver's side door of the big black truck behind me open. What the hell? They're not heading over to me, are they?

Then Thorne slides out. Shit, shit, and everything shit. What is he doing here? Did he follow me?

I don't say anything and watch as he stands in front of the parking meter. He is so tall he blocks my view of everything. I hear a series of beeps and then the sound of the ticket printing. Did he just pay for my parking? Why is he being so nice suddenly?

He turns, props his hand on the roof of my car and bends so that his face finally appears on my window. My heart skips a beat. He looks like a gorgeous villain. His grey eyes are clear and direct as they look at me. His blond hair is more tousled today than it was yesterday. He hands me a ticket and a receipt.

"T-thank you," I say. Maybe he's not so bad, after all. Maybe this is his apology for yesterday.

"Oh, it's not free," he says.

Well, I figure he'll ask me to pay him back.

He flashes another ticket. "I paid for mine too." Then hands me something else.

Without a word, he turns around and walks back to his truck. Confused, I look down on my hand. It's my wallet and a receipt for a full day parking. For a moment I am lost as to why he has my wallet and realize I had left it at Viola's yesterday. I feel grateful that he'd returned it to me. Then I scan the receipt and spot the last four digits of my credit card. He'd paid for my and his parking with my card! The jerk.

I immediately look up in my mirror and meet his eyes. He is in his truck, motioning with his hand for me to go.

"Thanks," he mouths and gives me a mocking salute.

I am fired up.