Shining Distraction [slow updates]

.FIVE.

"Please don't tell me that I'm the only one that's vulnerable..."
-- Vulnerable, Secondhand Serenade

(A/N: Literally the perfect song for the last half of this chapter... Xx)

___

"Holy shit, Charlie." It's Greer's voice that bursts through the silence after I finish telling them my story. I did leave out the part about the note, however, not understanding my own reasoning right away. I would find out later what my intentions were for not including that detail.

When I take the chance to look up from the table, finishing off my third drink, all eyes are on me, an array of emotions scattered across each face. I can pick out hints of disbelief, of wonderment, of... pity. I also sense that no one knows what to say next or how to approach this unchartered territory. That included our waitress, who had been so attentive and hadn't let a single glass or bottle go empty before returning with a replacement all night, but was now avoiding our table like the plague while we sat in silence. Even a perfect stranger could tell that something big had just been revealed.

"So," Greer starts, surveying the mood of our table, glancing at everyone briefly before giving me her full attention, her head knocked to the side, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together in a state of bewilderment. My body instinctively tenses as I brace myself, waiting for her to go on. "Is that why you have, like, a bajillion followers on Twitter?" I feel my limbs physically relax, my head shaking side to side as I let out a breathy giggle, rolling my eyes playfully at her.

"What the hell, G?" Kate's face cannot hide her utter confusion when she looks at Greer, doing her best not to laugh and almost failing completely when Greer turns her focus to my roommate, shrugging innocently, asking what she could have possibly done wrong in asking that question. Kate let out an exasperated sigh before clarifying. "After everything Charlie just told us, that's the first question that pops into your head?"

"I could have asked her if anyone turned the stereo off!" Greer is nearly shouting at this point and I am mortified at how tipsy she appears already. "That question came to mind, too."

No one at our table can seem to contain their laughter anymore and I have to join in when I hear chuckles making the rounds from everyone. I don't think Kate realizes that Greer is joking, trying to lighten the mood and ease my obvious tension, because she continues to gawk at her in disbelief.

"You two are ridiculous, you know that," I announce, smiling politely at our server who has finally taken the chance to come around to our table, clearing away empty bottles and shot glasses quickly, however not bothering to ask if we need anything else. I wait until she retreats from the table once again before giving my attention back to Greer. "G, what does Twitter have anything to do with this?"

I'll be honest, I've got a Twitter account for work, to share my online articles and other magazine-related things with my followers, but I never check it myself. I always have someone in our social media department keep up with my profile because I haven't got a clue how it works. Plus, I'm worried I will share something utterly embarrassing if I am allowed access to it. So, I can't help but become unbelievably confused at Greer's question. What did my number of Twitter followers have to do with anything?

"Chuck," she begins, using the cringe-inducing nickname I hated to love, that she so lovingly started using the moment we were introduced. It was no use telling her I hated it; she continued to call me that until she could tell she'd worn me down and I'd gotten used to it. Now, it was weird if she called me anything but Chuck. "Harry Styles must have followed you on Twitter at some point because your follower count is through the roof!"