I licked my lips and picked up my paintbrush. Music blasted in my ears to the point where I didn’t have to think about anything—nothing except the project that I was slowly but surely trying to complete.

I sighed loudly when the bristles hit the hot pressed watercolor paper. The color wasn’t right. I hovered over the small painting and bit my lip, staring at it for a good minute to try and motivate myself to keep working. But the size of the brush was wrong. The proportions were off. The movement wasn’t flowing how I wanted. I might as well go back to my fifth grade art class at this rate.

I groaned loudly and dropped my brush. I balled my hands up into fists to keep my self from ripping my project in half, something I’ve never actually done but have thought about often with vivid detail on several occasions.

I had stepped out of my comfort zone for this project, not using any photographs as reference, trying to capture something a little different, but it wasn’t right. I didn’t like how it was turning out. I just wasn’t the kind of artist that could think of things no the fly and be abstract and free. I wanted to be but my best work always came from a reference photograph. I knew I had an artist’s license to make things my own but I hardly used it.

I sighed, mad at myself for getting stressed over a project that I was literally doing for fun. I glanced at the various papers and sketches littering my working area, groaning—I had plenty of things I could be doing instead, like finalizing the album artwork that I had to scan in to the receiving bands by next week. I stood up from my spot at the table. I had made my living room into a personalized art studio, not being able to afford an actual art studio in this city. It worked fine, though, and I liked doing my thing in the comfort of my own place.

Hanging up on the wall was an old piece I had done in grad school, for my final portfolio project. I always kept it hanging up—it was my favorite, it inspired me to keep going. Clipped next to it was the picture Tony had sent me of him and his band mates playing on stage—the picture I used as reference. Looking at it not only made me smile but it also made me feel better about my usual art making process. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t something born from my raw imagination, because this was important to me and that was what mattered. It wasn’t like I traced the picture, anyway; it was all by hand.

Even when I wasn’t talking with Tony, he was motivating me. I smiled a little to myself and took my floral headband out of my hair. I brushed my fingers through it and then pushed my fringe out of my face, sliding the cloth headband back up my hairline—my hair was too short to put up in a bun or ponytail. I stretched my arms out and decided to take a break. It was late afternoon and I had been sitting there for hours.

I turned around a lightly walked into my tiny kitchen, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge. Now that I was out of my art trance, my stomach grumbled. I grabbed an apple and washed it in the sink. I took a small bite out of it and walked towards my room, away from the unfinished project that seemed to be taunting me to be completed. I’m not in the mood for you right now, I thought to it, shutting it out.

I sat in the middle of my bed and grabbed my computer from my neighboring desk. I flipped it open and set it in my lap, lightly tracing my fingers over the keyboard as it turned on.

I bit my lip in excitement when I heard a familiar jingle, meaning I had a message from Tony. My screen lit up when his message popped up on the screen.

Tony: hey trouble.

I laughed quietly to myself and typed a quick response.

Me: hey buttmunch

Tony: how was your day?

Me: It was alright. There are so many projects that I’m working on at the moment.

I groaned just thinking about them.

Tony: It is the holiday season.

I didn’t know why I found that funny, but I giggled at his message. I responded, amused in general.

Me: Yes it very much is. How’s your work going?

Tony: We’re having a sale this weekend. Expecting stock to sell out fast.

Me: Can I just say how awesome it is that you and your friend co-own a business?

Tony: And that I give you free clothes?

Me: Hush child.

I laughed, looking down on myself. I actually was wearing one of his clothing line’s t-shirts, the one with the tattooed turtle on the front. It was my favorite.

Tony: hahahaha

Me: I’m really proud of what you’ve done though. You guys are doing so well.

Tony: We’ve had some highs and lows but we’re doing fine. The profits aren’t too shabby either.

Me: Am I getting a cool ass Christmas present this year? :D

Tony: Even better

Me: Can I know?

Tony: You sure you don’t want to keep it a surprise?

Me: tell me tell me TELL MEEEEEEEEEEE

Tony: I booked a flight to Phoenix. I’m landing there next month.

I screamed. I let out a genuine scream, the loudest noise I’ve made in years. I immediately clutched my hands to my throat, the yell hurt, my vocal chords raw. My hands started to shake. I could hardly respond to him.

Me: omfg

That was all I could manage. I couldn’t pin point the exact feeling that was rushing like river rapids through my body. Happiness—yes! Excitement—for sure. Anxiousness—definitely.

It was definitely anxiousness. I didn’t know what to do with myself then when Tony told me about his trip, and I didn’t know what to do with myself now that it’s been a month and he was due to land any minute. My hands shook and my heart pumped as I waiting outside of Terminal C, where Tony was supposed to exit.

I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I held them in my own but it was no use. I closed my eyes and let the hot Phoenix sun soak into my skin in an attempt to let the nature calm me down, but it wasn’t working. I’ve daydreamed about this moment—meeting Tony in person—for years, but now that I was here I couldn’t swallow down the anxiety that was tightening up my throat.

I tapped my foot against the sidewalk and swallowed hard. The knot in my throat didn’t go away as I did that, though; it only became worse. I opened my eyes and suddenly the sunlight was a lot brighter than before. It was blinding.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dug it out. It was a text from Tony. He knew I didn’t like phone calls but he never asked why.

TORI! I’M HEREEEEE!

Oh, God, he was so excited. He probably didn’t feel an ounce of the anxiousness that was stirring in my chest.

He sent another calmer message immediately after the first: Are you here?

I bit my lip. I was here, but I wasn’t.

I couldn’t do this.

He wouldn’t recognize me.

He wouldn’t know who I was.

I didn’t tell him I chopped off my hair. He didn’t know that it was now a shiny bold orange instead of its usual dirty blonde. He didn’t know that my grey-blue eyes were hiding behind auburn colored contacts. I always imagined that I would be able to talk to Tony, but I was terrified to my core that the moment I saw him I wouldn’t be able to say anything—keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to get hurt. He’d never know it was me. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to talk, I wasn’t ready to face him, I wasn’t ready for him to reject me for being completely and utterly mute in person. He knew me as the energetic, friendly, happy girl online, but I was anything but that in real life—oh god, he’d hate me forever if he found out this way. I couldn’t loose him just yet. I needed him too much.

I turned around to cross the street. I had to get out of here before I saw him—before he saw me. My chest tightened as I imagined his face if we made eye contact—he wouldn’t know who I was. He’d brush me off as just another person, not his best friend and pen pal of over fifteen years. He’d walk right past me without a second glance.

Omg Tony. I’m so sorry I can’t pick you up. Something came up with a client…

A tear fell down my cheek as I sent the message. I couldn’t do this. He couldn't see me. I was a coward. I was selfish. I was incredibly undeserving of him.

Uh oh. I’ll catch a cab, it’s okay. Are you okay?

Yeah yeah I’m fine. Sorry Tone. I won’t be home for a while though and I don’t have a spare key there… I hated that I was leaving him stranded but I couldn’t face him. And I definitely didn’t want him to show up at my apartment door when I least expected.

Oh, that’s fine Tori. I’ll go to a hotel for the night. Meet up tomorrow, yeah?

I gulped and took a shaky breath. I’ll talk to you later, was all I managed to say. I felt horrible, tears burned in my eyes.

I loved Tony, he was my best friend—he was my only friend. I wanted to see him so bad, I wanted to hug him; I could remember nights where I was curled in my bed, alone as always, sick to my stomach because all I wanted and needed was a hug from my best friend. And now that the opportunity has arisen I was running away.

I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I felt like I was going to be sick. I couldn’t decide what would be worst—standing Tony up or facing him in a form he may not like. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I should have told him the truth before it was too late—before he set foot in the dry heat of Phoenix, Arizona. What was I thinking? I wrapped my hand tightly around my left arm, digging my nails into my arm with anger for myself. I've led Tony on for an entire month, letting him think that this was going to work out, that we'd finally meet each other, just for me to back out at the last minute because I was a coward.

“Hey, are you okay, miss?” Someone gently touched my arm. I fought the urge to flinch but I did anyway. I shook my head. “Can I help you with something? You look sick,” he said. My insides froze and if I wasn’t in pubic I would probably get sick all over the pavement in front of me.

I slowly turned around.

His eyebrows were furrowed. His mouth was turned into a frown; his expression was concerned. I couldn’t peel my eyes off of the owl tattoo on his neck. And when I finally did my eyes caught with his—just like expected I saw no flicker of recognition in his dark brown eyes, only concern because I probably looked insane.

I breathed slowly and took in his entire appearance. He looked exactly like he did from the pictures he would send me of new shirt designs that he and his friends modeled--he was wearing a basic black one right now. His dark hair was shorter on the sides and spiked up on the top. I tightened my fists to keep my self from impulsively reaching up and running my fingers through his soft looking hair. A dermal stud sat on his cheekbone and reflected off his face—his face that held a deepening frown the longer we just stood there. He tilted his head to the side curiously. I thought for maybe a second he would recognize me, but I knew he didn’t. Tony opened his mouth to speak again--he looked wary, because to him I was just a stranger. I was a stranger that stood there admiring his appearance and presence for way too long.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Notes

WOW I ACTUALLY TOOK LESS THAN 2 WEEKS TO UPDATE

Hi guys, claire here :)
Sooo it's kinda hard to follow after precious totally killed the letter chapters (in a good way), but we'll see how this goes! :P
Thanks so much for reading this, it means a lot to us! Let us know what you think and tell us your predictions!!!!

Mucho love xoxo