a little bit of black with a little bit of pink

Eighty days, part 2

Two months, two weeks, and four days earlier...

She had been religious.

No. That wasn't the right word; she was never religious, but there'd always been a sense that there was... more. She had never been spiritual or devout or a "believer," but she'd been something.

Whatever it was, though, whatever she'd once been or felt, it'd long been lost to her. (She thought it might have fled when Ella's heart failed her, or maybe perhaps it was losing someone else she loved many years later that was the final nail in the coffin. Either way, she was glad it was gone. Really.) Yet, it made a soaring and roaring comeback as she stepped into the coffee shop and was met immediately by Jennie's smile. The coffee made her feel warm and Jennie's smile made her feel calm, and it was enough for her—enough of a change, enough of a respite, enough of a painkiller—that she smiled right back and didn't question it, didn't dare risk it by overthinking it.

(Her broken heart thudded peacefully in her chest and breathing came more effortlessly and Lisa just let things be, terrified it would be taken from her once more.)

(She'd been glad when it was gone, but now that she had it back, she resolved to cling to it.)

(She didn't question why she wanted it to stay either.)

-----

"I see you're writing again," Rosé said, as she walked into Lisa's apartment (as uninvited as ever) and sat down next to Lisa on the couch, picking up a few pieces of paper, her eyes roving over them critically.

"Don't make a big deal of this," Lisa warned, putting her pen down, knowing there was no way she'd get to work with Rosé around.

"Me? Why I never." She paused briefly, not looking away from the papers. "I'm glad, Lisa, it's about time. But..."

"But what?"

"Be careful, okay?" With Rosé's eyes still determinedly fixed on the papers in her hand, there was no mistaking what she was talking about—her nervousness and indirectness spoke volumes.

"You were never one not to speak your mind."

"You're vulnerable," Rosé muttered, finally meeting Lisa's eyes. "I'm just saying, I'm glad the girl is getting you to write again, but don't put all your hopes on her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't you? Lisa, you've done this before. You know you have."

"We're not talking about Palisa."

"No, but it's the same thing, and you know it. You give everything, you get hurt, and I'm afraid one of these days you won't be able to come back from it."

"It's not the same. I'm being careful."

"You told her about Ella."

"I've never hidden Ella from anyone!"

"But you also don't talk about her to people you barely know." Lisa didn't respond, she just looked down, and Rosé took it as assent. "I love you, Lisa," she said softly, forcing Lisa to meet her gaze again, "and it's my job to protect you, even if it's from yourself." Lisa blinked rapidly, hating the pressure that built up behind her eyelids and in her throat from the effort it was taking not to cry. She shifted so that she was leaning on Rosé, her head resting on her best friend's shoulder.

"I feel better there," she admitted quietly. Rosé's arms wrapped around her, and for a second, Lisa allowed herself to feel comforted.

"I know, Lisa."