Drafting Through The Distress

A/N:

Just thought I'd clarify something, since a new format style gets introduced in this chapter.

[ An Internal Thought]

/ Some Physical Text /

<{Identity}: Chat App Message>

Now that you've been spoiled that phone texting is incoming... please enjoy~

- - - - -

The smoothie sat uncapped a good distance from her laptop. The pale pink color suggested banana mixed with little strawberry. The resort's logo was printed on the side, making it clear it came from their juice bar and a circle for added protein had been marked with a sharpie on the cap she removed.

Objectively, making use of the drink was a good idea. Her doctor always pushed the importance of not taking iron supplements on an empty stomach. But the very thought of consuming anything substantial made Renée's stomach tell her she was an idiot.

Her fingers traced the condensation beginning to form on the smoothie cup. The cool and pleasant sensation let her stop thinking for a moment. Soon enough her heart would stop trying to escape her chest every time she thought about last night.

About kissing her ex. About running from her because she *knew* it wouldn't end at that.

[About that crazy confessional still sitting in my bag.]

After shaking her head and rubbing her face, Renée forced herself to take a small sip of the smoothie. The taste was pleasant enough - not too sweet, with something that might be ginger underneath the fruit. Someone had put thought into the combination.

"Thank you, Leana…"

The subtle ginger was actually perfect - it turned out the journalist knew something about nausea management. She took another small sip while counting backwards from ten in her head. Years of habit made her catalog every sensation, waiting for signs of rejection.

[So far, so good.]

Her stomach didn't immediately revolt, which was usually cause for betting things are safe. She alternated between tiny sips of smoothie and staring at her phone. No new messages from her editor yet, though that would come.

The man always seemed to know exactly when Renée was least prepared to deal with deadlines.

Writing while managing a bad OSFED spell was nothing new. She'd done it plenty of times before, channeling some of her struggle into characters who faced their own battles. But usually she had her whole apartment setup - her special tea, her weighted blanket, her carefully arranged workspace.

Everything was stable and normalized… and not minutes of walking away from the person she would think about when she was most lonely.

[Or thirty seconds at a flat sprint.]

Here she was trapped with hotel amenities and only whatever else she'd thought to pack. At least she'd brought enough medication to last two weeks - a habit born from too much anxiety over running out. The irony that her paranoia had actually worked in her favor this time wasn't lost on her.

It was unlikely, but there was a chance she might be stuck here that long or more. The iron supplement and migraine pill were added on top, almost making her feel like an alchemist cauldron. While the thought was fresh, her fingers danced on the keyboard.

The open note document on her laptop was filled with unpolished ideas.

Like trying to figure out how her character could finally tell someone the truth about her secret ability. A half dozen ideas that worked perfectly and were logical in that situation. But not hers.

[There's always a reason I can't agree with my own thoughts. Yet, I keep doing a lot of things that don't make sense to me lately.]

Knowing there was photographic evidence of her wearing that suit yesterday, which would definitely end up in Leana's wedding album, made the pressure behind her eyes increase. She was really glad she took that pill!

Her laptop sat waiting. She knew from experience that with her brain right now, it would go unused. She opened her notebook instead. Sometimes hand-writing helped bridge that gap - let her piece together fragments of story while her body sorted itself out.

The same sort of pages that held last night's ramblings now began to take on another tale. Something about a girl learning to trust in the person she already claimed to trust so much. Her protagonist's latest crisis involved accepting help she didn't want to need.

Renée's pen paused on the page as she registered the parallel. Then she made herself continue writing.

[Art imitating life? Sort of. At least I can imagine someone who knows how to do that right.]

She jotted down a few lines, pausing between each to drink more of the smoothie. Her pen moved across the paper, sketching out a scene where her protagonist finally confronted her own important person. She noted that the parallels she came up with weren't subtle, but that was something for her to mind.

Readers? They connected with the rawness of it… even without knowing the true source - or so the marketing department said. Without knowing what parts of it were remotely based in reality and lived experience. The fiction elements blurred the lines beautifully.

Her notebook accumulated several pages of rough scenes while she worked alone in her room. Fragments that would need heavy editing later, but at least the words were flowing. Sometimes it was easier to write gems when her defenses were down.

When the careful walls she maintained on how things made her feel had gaps in them… her characters felt more solid to her in these moments.

[Maybe that's why teens connect with Young Adult works so much. No one does raw emotion quite like they do.]

Swirling the long empty cup, she sat her pen down. Her phone slid from the table into her hands so she could text Leana a thank you for the smoothie. Her fingers hovered over the keys as she tried to phrase it without inviting another interrogation.

<{R} Thanks for thinking of me and sending me something better for my stomach.>

The response came suspiciously fast.

<{L} You're welcome. Is she out of breath from running it to you? :stare:>

For a few seconds, the writer only furrowed her brows… but then Renée's stomach dropped. She stared at the pink liquid-stained smoothie cup. Like it might suddenly reveal its mysterious origins.

Before she could spiral too far into panic, a knock at her door made her jump.

"Ms. Laurent? Leana asked me to bring you something to eat."

Carmen's voice through the door only confirmed again what the text implied - she'd just consumed something without knowing who left it or what was in it. Years of careful habits around her health, and she'd just…