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AMARA'S HEART WAS beating out of her chest. At least, that's what she felt, though Marie had already informed her that she was being a tad dramatic after Amara had called her around three a.m. stating that she was going to die from the nerves.
"Stop worrying," Marie had told her over the phone, and Amara was seated on her bed, swaddled in the many blankets that adorned the mattress. "Everything's gonna be fine; just stop freaking yourself out, Mar."
The encouraging words from her friend had made her feel somewhat better, but that was around six hours earlier and now Amara was pacing in the front room of her flat, bare feet making the light padding noise on the floor that was the only sound that echoed throughout the home.
It seemed as so Marie's encouragements had flowed straight out the window — and Amara was left in the room with only her fretted thoughts to keep her company.
"I can't do this," she muttered to herself, hands tugging at her newly short hair. "I can't tell him this, it will ruin everything! Oh god; how did Wren do this with Bellamy?"
Now Amara knew she was being foolish, comparing her life to the one of the fictional character she played in a TV series. But, pacing around her apartment like a mad woman, it felt like the only sane thing she had left to do. After all, she had already cleaned and cleaned more of the rooms in her flat, and a game of Temple Run could only keep her busy for so long. She was only left to just let her worried thoughts nag at her brain — until, of course, the dreaded knock on her door sounded.
Amara Jones was usually a confident young woman, she had pursued her acting dreams by the time she was eighteen and out of school, and she could easily create conversation with a person if she liked to. She always walked with her head held high and steps always certain; to some, they figured nothing could scare Amara Jones.
But standing in front Bob right then, her best friend who was also so much more, with his mess of dark curls and simple clothing and affectionate smile; Amara Jones could have not been more terrified.
"Hey," he spoke, with his Australian drawl that never failed to make her stomach flutter, hands tucked in his pockets of his pants. Amara smiled at him, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so.
"Hi," she replied, honestly having no idea what else to say. Instead, she realised that she had just been staring at him for a good minute or two, and blushing an alarming red, she stepped to the side and gestured in her apartment. "Uh, come in."
