It's Casual Now

Chapter 9:

The next morning, I'm jolted awake by heavy knocks at the door. My head is pounding, and the room spins around me. I can feel the remnants of the night still swirling in my body, the confusion and the emotions too loud in my mind to ignore. I drag myself out of bed, struggling to focus as I make my way to the door.

When I open it, there she is—Stefani, standing there holding a Starbucks cup in her hand. For a second, I just look at her. My heart beats a little faster, and I wonder if she's here to talk about everything. She doesn't look angry, just... concerned. She holds the cup out to me. "I brought you coffee," she says softly, like it's the most casual thing in the world.

"Thanks," I say quietly, stepping aside to let her in. We both head over to the couch, the weight of last night hanging over us like a thick fog. I grab the remote, turning on the TV, hoping the distraction will keep her from bringing up anything from the past few days.

But of course, it's inevitable. She sets her coffee down on the table, then casually crosses her legs. Her gaze shifts to me, and she turns her body slightly toward me, her eyes soft but probing.

I can feel my chest tighten. She's going to ask, isn't she? I brace myself. I can't do this. Not yet.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice gentle but laced with concern.

I try to avoid her eyes, my heart beating harder now. "I'm fine," I mutter, but it's too quick, too sharp. She knows I'm lying.

"Please, talk to me," she presses, her voice still quiet but insistent. "I've never seen you like that during the show. What's going on?"

I feel the tears threatening to rise again. I swallow them down, trying to stay composed. "I get a lot of memories from that song," I explain, my voice trembling slightly. "I just got into the performance. That's all."

Stefani doesn't let it go. She keeps pushing, her eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to crack. "Lena, I need to know what's going on. You were—different."

I can feel the walls around me crumbling. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it's not. Frustration bubbles up in me. "I don't wanna talk about it," I snap, my voice louder than I meant it to be. "Not to you. Ever. Please stop asking."

I can feel the tension in the room, the awkwardness thick between us. I immediately regret my outburst. I run my hands through my hair, trying to calm myself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell," I say quickly, my tone softening. "It's nothing personal. I just... I can't talk about it."

She looks at me for a long moment, and I feel her hand gently rest on mine. I don't pull away. My fingers tighten around hers, and I realize how much I just need someone to hold me right now.

I lie back on the couch, and after a beat, Stefani follows, lying down on top of me. It's lighthearted, a small, intimate gesture, nothing more. I try to breathe, to let the tension melt away, but I can feel her presence, her warmth, and it's making it harder to focus.

Then she does it. She looks into my eyes—really looks at me—and I can see the softness in her gaze. Before I can register what's happening, she leans in, trying to kiss me.

I panic.

I push her off, and she stumbles slightly, confusion spreading across her face. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I thought that was just a one-time thing," I say, my voice shaking, trying to hold onto my composure.

She doesn't look angry, just... confused. "Oh, what do you mean?" she asks, her voice quiet but full of uncertainty.

I hate this. I hate how this is all turning out. I can't even look at her right now. "I mean, I can't kiss you. I can't—this is casual for me. Nothing serious," I say, feeling my throat close up. I can't stand this feeling, the vulnerability, the emotion. It feels like I'm losing control of everything.

Stefani stays quiet for a moment, but then she speaks again, her voice soft but firm. "I can be casual," she says. "Lena, I can."

I shake my head. "Maybe it's best if we don't do anything at all," I mutter, sitting up. "I was out of my zone yesterday. I don't ever want to feel like that again."

Her face falls. "You were amazing last night. You still crushed it. The audience loved seeing the emotion you brought to the song," she says, her voice full of encouragement.

"I know you say that," I reply, running my fingers through my hair, trying to push the nagging guilt away. "And I'm glad you trust me to perform my best, but I didn't feel that way. I didn't feel anything like how you think I did."

Stefani looks like she wants to say more, but I can't take it. I stand up and grab my bag. "I'm sorry, but this... this can't continue," I say.

Stefani doesn't protest, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. She opens her mouth, like she's going to apologize, but then she just shakes her head. "It's okay," she says quietly, barely above a whisper. "I get it."

She begins to grab her things and make her way to the door. "I'll see you later at the club tonight," I say, forcing a small smile. "We'll figure this out later."

She leaves before I can say anything else, my heart heavy in my chest.

Later, I head to the gym for a run, hoping that pushing my body to its limit will clear my head. I work out, then go to dance class. Anything to avoid thinking about last night, about Stefani, about the mess I've made.

I'm not ready for anything serious. I know that much. And maybe, in the end, it's better to just let her go.

By the time I'm getting ready for the night out in Barcelona, I've made a decision. I pull on a little black dress and black heels, checking myself in the mirror. Then, my gaze falls on the folded piece of paper on the counter—my reminder of the blonde from last night. I grab my phone, dial her number, and invite her to the club.

I need to move on. I need to prove to Stefani that I'm done with whatever this was between us. I can't be emotionally involved with her, not now, not ever.

I hang up the phone, take one last look in the mirror, and head out the door. Tonight, I'll lose myself in the music, in the crowd. I'll find something to distract me from the ache in my chest, from the guilt of what I just did. I'm going to the club, and I'm going to forget about everything else.