Blasphemous (Torn #3)(39)

I downed my drink before I faced her, sitting on a stool and writing what seemed to be an essay of sorts. “I’m taking the semester off. School’s just… you know, not what I need right now.”

Trista paused, looked up and shut the lid of her computer. “Go on. I’m waiting for you to continue.” She was looking at me expectantly.

“Continue what?” I asked, confused as to what she meant.

“You said school was not what you needed right now. I’m waiting for you to tell me what you think you need.”

Oh, that. Heck, do I know? “I haven’t got a clue yet.”

“What do you feel like you need?”

Bass.

Of course, I didn’t voice that one out loud. Instead, I tried to explain what I was going through. “I’m going through a shitty period. I know that there’s really no cure for this type of pain, but I just want something that would make me feel… less… like death? Does that make any sense?”

She studied me as if understanding where I was coming from, but I was surprised what came out of that feisty mouth of hers. “Get your purse. We’re going for a drive.”

“I just got here. I want to go in my room and rest.”

“f*uk off, Em. Get your purse and let’s get out of here!”

“Goodness, calm the hell down.” I glared at her, surprised at her militant attitude. “What the heck, Trista!” Complaining, but gathering my purse as she waited on me, foot tapping before she barked another order to follow her out.

Why was she acting like a bipolar bitch? I fumed while Trista started her car and joined the traffic on Main Street. I was glancing out the window, wondering what Trista’s problem was when she broke through my concentration.

“You should know, more than anyone, the crap I went through. If there was another person that could understand you right now, that would be me. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch about you coming with me earlier, but you needed to snap the f*uk out of it, Emma. Focus on something. If not school, then acting, work, dating—something. I can’t stand seeing you every day with red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. If you can’t do something about it, then let me try to help.”

Damn, she really did change. This was a different Trista and I was just so damn proud that she had finally emerged out of that horrid experience as a new, enlightened woman. “I know you meant well, Tris. Thank you for trying, even though I’ve been so distant with everybody lately.”

She gave me a sweet smile before she took my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Make an effort, Em. Be progressive; fighting this is progressive. That’s what counts at the end of the day.”

“Which book or movie did you get that line from?” I wondered out loud.

“It was actually Taylor who told me that when I was down and out. Now, I’m giving you that piece of advice. Just hang in there. It’ll get better.”

That made me smile. Of course, Taylor was there for her. He became her rock during that tough time. Trista was lucky and she knew that, too.

When my phone started ringing and I saw it was Barbara, I went to cut off the sound system and took the call. “Hello, Barbara.”

“Hi, Emma. Do you have an available day early next week? There’s a new project I want to speak to you about.”

“Great! Well, I’m free Monday for lunch or dinner, you pick.”

“Does a Monday lunch date at Katsuya in Hollywood sound okay? Say, twelve-thirty?”

“Sounds fantastic. See you then.”

“Thank you, Emma. Goodbye.” Barbara hung up before I had the opportunity to respond to her.

Well, it didn’t matter. At least, well I hoped, my career was going to be okay even though my love life was in the gutter.

“See! You’ll be okay, Emma,” Trista gleefully exclaimed after I told her what Barbara’s call was about.

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” I muttered, praying that my friend was right.

Five minutes later, I was confused when Trista parked at the hospital. When she started to unbuckle her seatbelt, I just silently stared at her, confused as to what the f*uk we were doing at a hospital for crying out loud. When she offered help, I thought it was along the lines of a therapist or something, not a f*uking hospital. What did she expect me to do? Get my brain examined?

“What?” She looked at me like I was stupid, not getting her drift. “Aren’t you going to move your chunky ass out of the damn car? We’re here.”

“I wasn’t aware that either of us had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Stop asking questions and just follow my lead, cool?”

Not really. “Whatever, Tris,” I said, shaking my head as if she’d lost hers already.

Quietly, we strode towards the entrance of the hospital. I was surprised that she didn’t look for directions, but went straight to the bank of elevators as if she’d done it frequently. When the elevator dinged at our stop, I was caught off guard when she led us to the maternity ward.

Okay, this was getting weirder by the second.

“Tris…” I trailed off after her, but whatever was supposed to come out of my mouth disappeared from thought after I saw her stop and stare through a window. When I finally reached her, she didn’t acknowledge my presence, but kept on staring at the rows of newborn babies. She had this facial expression of pain and, at the same time, awe. It was hard to explain, but it was the best I could do.