Spin

Twenty-Five

[RORY]

The coffee shop was eerily empty, playing the most cliche soundtrack. Raindrops pelting against the window, coffee beans brewing behind the counter, the incessant clicking of laptop keys, and the under belly of some non-descript smooth jazz track.

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought I was back in Europe.

I stared across the table at Christopher's narrowed eyes, dancing across his screen as if he were trying to decipher a riddle. He was focused, hesitant but then intentional as his fingers began flying again a million miles a minute. A loose tendril of hair escaped the confines of gel, curling down over his forehead.

"Fascinating," he muttered, not even bothering to look up. I glanced at him, wondering if he was even talking to me for a second. "You've taught yourself to write without moving your hands."

"I can teach you if you'd like," I retorted, my tone disinterested at best. "Requires a bit more brain power, more than you probably have."

His amusement was clear as he gave in, looking over at me with a knowing smirk. I blinked at him before looking down at the empty Google doc in front of me.

"You're distracted," he commented, crossing his arms. "What could possibly be plaguing you on a beautiful Saturday morning?"

Ironically, so many things.

"Why don't you worry about you?" I gave him a dry smile, loathing how his own grew as he pushed the pesky hair off his forehead. "Stay in your lane, mind your business, etcetera."

"As fun as this game is, you know I'm going to wear you down. And then you'll be mad at me for it, and I'll be annoyed with you for wasting both of our time. What's going on?"

I didn't make eye contact, my gaze trained on the empty canvas making a mockery out of me.

"I'm going to get fired."

Something shifted as I ripped the bandaid off, speaking truth to the words that had been weighing me down night after night. Christopher was silent as I gave in, looking up. Part of me awaited reassurance, but most of me knew, I was right to be worried.

"Then why don't you hijack the narrative?"

And there it was – the confirmation I didn't know I needed so badly. Though it should have done the opposite, I felt a breath of relief leave me as my shoulders eased.

"Quit?"

"Yes, quit."

I laughed – audibly laughed. "I can't quit."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"I've quit jobs before that didn't feel like the right fit for me."

"It's different for me."

"And why is that?"

I scoffed, unable to hide my frustration with the situation any longer.

"Do you know what they'll say about me?"

His expression softened but I didn't want his pity, or anyone else's.

"If I quit, it's a calculated move. It'll confirm that I'm just using Finn for his money and fame, that I lack ambition. If I get fired, even worse. I'm talentless and have nothing going for me except clinging to whatever relevance Finn brings me."

He chose his response carefully, studying my expression – though I was sure to keep it steady, already feeling far too vulnerable for my liking.

"I know it's easier said than done, but you can't be bothered with outsider opinions. People who don't know the first thing about you, besides whatever DailyMail comes up with out of sheer boredom. That's not real. I know it, you know it."