Chapter Eighteen
Raven had been staring at Alissa's Instagram for three hours straight.
It was pathetic, really. Utterly pathetic. But she couldn't seem to stop scrolling through the carefully curated grid of photos: Alissa and her new husband at some trendy restaurant, Alissa in the studio with producers Raven didn't recognize, Alissa looking impossibly happy in every single frame.
The latest post was from yesterday. A selfie of Alissa with the caption: Found my person. Found my peace.
Three million likes.
Raven had stared at it until the words blurred, until her eyes burned, until her laptop battery warning flashed at fifteen percent. Then she'd kept staring anyway, because apparently self-destruction was her new hobby.
The comments were even worse. Thousands of people congratulating Alissa, telling her she deserved happiness, saying how beautiful she looked. A few mentioned Raven, mostly variations of "good riddance" and "upgrade."
She'd finally passed out on the couch around eleven, laptop still balanced on her chest, Alissa's smile burned into her retinas.
Then pounding on her door jolted her awake.
For one disoriented moment, she thought she was back in London, that it was paparazzi or a crazed fan or maybe just Claire showing up unannounced.
Then she registered the familiar ceiling of her Bankton sitting room, the empty beer bottles on the floor, and her laptop sliding off her chest as she sat up.
The pounding intensified.
"Christ," Raven muttered, stumbling to her feet. Her neck ached, her mouth tasted like ash, and she was still wearing yesterday's clothes. "I'm coming!"
What the hell was this about? Probably escaped sheep or an impromptu maypole dance or something equally ridiculous.
She yanked open the door, ready to tell whoever it was to piss off.
Annabelle stood on the doorstep in a dressing gown and slippers, her hair wild, her face pale, her eyes wide with something that looked like panic.
Raven's stomach dropped. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"You're alive," Annabelle said.
Raven blinked. "What?"
"I thought you were dead." Annabelle pressed one hand to her chest, breathing hard. "I thought… I thought something terrible had happened."
Raven frowned. "Why would you think I was dead?"
"Because it was quiet." Annabelle said, like this explained everything.
"There was no guitar, no music, nothing, and you always play at night, but tonight it was just…
silent. And then I started thinking about Nina's photo going viral, and everyone knowing where you are now, and what if some stalker found you, or what if…
" She stopped, seeming to realize how she sounded. "Sorry. I'm being ridiculous."
Despite the hour, despite her splitting headache, despite everything, Raven felt something warm unfurl in her chest.
She was worried. Annabelle had been actually worried about her.
"The papers report I'm dead all the time," Raven said. "It's something about rockstars. We're apparently always dying dramatically somewhere. I think I've been declared dead at least four times this year."
Annabelle stared at her. Then, impossibly, she laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's not." But Annabelle was smiling now, the panic fading from her face. "I'm sorry. I panicked. You're clearly fine, so I'll just, um…"
"Come in," Raven said.
Annabelle paused. "What?"
"Come in. I'll make you some tea." Raven stepped back, opening the door wider. "You look like you need it."
For a moment, Annabelle just stood there, surprise written across her face. Then she nodded and followed Raven inside.
The kitchen was a disaster: empty bottles, notebooks covered in crossed-out lyrics, her guitar propped against the wall, but Annabelle didn't seem to notice. She just sat down at the kitchen table, folding her hands in front of her like a well-behaved student.
Raven filled the kettle, hyperaware of Annabelle's presence in her space. It should have felt intrusive. Instead, it felt…right. Like Annabelle belonged there.
Dangerous thought.
She made two mugs of tea, milk and sugar for Annabelle, black for herself, and sat down across from her.
In the warm light of the kitchen, Raven could see the exhaustion etched into Annabelle's face. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed to be holding herself together by sheer force of will.
"You look knackered," Raven said.
Annabelle let out a tired laugh. "You really know how to charm someone."
"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept properly?"
"I sleep." Annabelle wrapped both hands around her mug, not meeting Raven's eyes.
"Annabelle."
"I'm fine." But her voice wavered slightly. "Really. I just need to keep going. The fundraiser is in less than two weeks, and there's still so much to do, and if I don't…"
She stopped. Swallowed.
Raven waited, something pounding in her chest. She'd spent weeks watching Annabelle smile through everything, relentlessly positive even when Raven was being deliberately difficult. But now, sitting across from her in the quiet, she could see the cracks.
And she realized, with a jolt, that she was the one that was worried about Annabelle.
"What if it's not enough?" Annabelle said finally, the words tumbling out like a confession. "What if we do all this work, put in all this effort, and we still don't raise enough money? What if the library closes anyway? What if all my optimism doesn't actually make a real difference?"
The vulnerability in her voice made Raven's chest ache.
She fumbled for the right words, feeling completely out of her depth. She wasn't good at this, comfort, reassurance, any of it. But Annabelle was looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes, and Raven had to try.
"Sometimes just showing up matters," Raven said slowly. "You might not see it, but it does. Jamie's been smiling more because of you. The kids feel safe at school because you care. That counts for something."
Annabelle's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Does it though?"
"Yeah," Raven said quietly. "It does."
They sat in silence for a moment. Raven stared into her tea, wondering how they'd gotten here, sitting at her kitchen table in the middle of the night, being honest with each other. Then she opened her mouth and words just sort of… came out.
"I'm terrified I'll never write another good song," Raven heard herself say.
She hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't meant to admit it out loud. But there it was, hanging in the air between them.
Annabelle didn't say anything. Just waited.
"I'm burned out," Raven continued, the words spilling out now. "I haven't written anything decent in months. Everything I try sounds wrong. And I keep thinking maybe Alissa was right. Maybe I am too difficult to love. Too complicated. Too…much."
"Raven…"
"Maybe that's just who I am," Raven said. "Someone who ruins things."
Annabelle reached across the table and took Raven's hand.
The contact was sudden, warm, grounding. Raven stared down at their joined hands, at Annabelle's fingers curled around hers.
"You're not difficult," Annabelle said fiercely. "You're real. You're honest. And anyone who can't handle that is the problem, not you."
Raven looked up and found Annabelle watching her with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. The moment stretched between them, charged and fragile, like something that might shatter if either of them moved.
"Why did you help with the fundraiser?" Annabelle asked softly. "You didn't have to. You could have said no."
Raven's throat tightened. She'd never told anyone this. Not Alissa, not the band, not even Claire. But sitting here with Annabelle, exhausted and vulnerable in the middle of the night, it felt safe.
"When I was a kid," she said slowly, "I was in care. The foster system. Bounced between homes for years. Never stayed anywhere long enough to feel like I belonged."
Annabelle's grip on her hand tightened.
"But the school library," Raven continued, "that was different. It was the only place that stayed the same, no matter which home I was in or which school I ended up at. The librarian let me stay after school. Gave me books to escape into. Made me feel like…like I mattered."
"Raven," Annabelle whispered.
"I'm terrified of kids losing that," Raven said. "Of them losing the one safe place they have. That sanctuary. So when you asked for help, I couldn't say no. Even though I wanted to."
Annabelle was crying now, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. "Raven," she said again.
"My name’s really Rachel," Raven said. "Rachel Adams. Raven's just… a stage name. Something I created when I needed to be someone else."
"Rachel," Annabelle repeated softly, testing the name on her tongue.
"No one calls me that anymore."
"Thank you," Annabelle said. "For telling me."
They sat like that for a long moment, hands joined across the table, the kitchen warm and quiet around them. Raven felt raw, exposed, like she'd peeled back every layer of protection she'd spent years building.
But she also felt lighter.
Finally, Annabelle pulled her hand back and stood. "I should go. Let you sleep."
Raven stood too, not wanting the moment to end but not knowing how to say that.
They walked to the door together. Annabelle pulled her dressing gown tighter, preparing to face the cold night air.
"Thank you," she said. "For the tea. And for…everything."
"Yeah," Raven said, because apparently her vocabulary had shrunk to monosyllables.
Annabelle smiled at her, soft and tired and impossibly lovely in the dim light of the hallway.
Then she stepped forward, and Raven moved at the same time, and suddenly they were face to face, barely inches apart.
Raven could see every fleck of color in Annabelle's eyes, could feel the warmth of her breath, could smell her shampoo, floral and sweet.
Neither of them moved.
But then, inexplicably, they were kissing.
Raven didn't know who moved first. Maybe it was her, maybe it was Annabelle, maybe it was both of them drawn together by some force neither of them could name.
All she knew was that Annabelle's lips were soft and warm, that her hand had somehow found its way to Raven's waist, that Raven's fingers were tangled in Annabelle's hair.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, both of them testing the waters.
Then Annabelle made a small sound in the back of her throat and pressed closer, and something in Raven cracked open.
She pulled Annabelle flush against her, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of longing and fear and desperate need into it.
Annabelle tasted like tea and hope and all the things Raven had convinced herself she didn't deserve. Her hands were in Raven's hair now, fingers threading through the tangled mess of it, and Raven felt like she was drowning and being saved all at once.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Raven couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
Annabelle stared at her, lips kiss-swollen, eyes wide with wonder, like she'd just witnessed something miraculous.