9. Nalini
Chapter nine
Nalini
Istared at the typewriter on my desk. It was the most intimidating thing in my apartment.
I’d taken it out of my closet and put it back a few times.
I’d debated throwing it in the dumpster even more times than that.
I was glad I hadn’t. I’d been joking about the books, but was pleasantly surprised when Kameron bought them anyway.
It was clear he wanted to try to fix things, and against my better judgment, I decided to let him.
Misty was thrilled. Peri was appalled.
I hadn’t been sure why he’d come back to Briar Hill.
I knew his wife died, but I’d assumed Kameron was still as famous as his brothers.
But money problems? From someone who’d toured the world on multiple occasions?
It sounded like his wife’s medical treatments cost more money than I’d imagined, and if he hadn’t kept making music, I saw how it'd add up. Briar Hill was safe; it was where he’d grown up, and it was clear Cassidy belonged here.
I could tolerate his reasoning for moving back — I could even sympathize with it.
But I wasn’t sure how to be friends with Kameron anymore.
We were completely different people. He had a whole marriage; he was a Dad.
Even with his rockstar days behind him, there were only glimpses of the person I used to know.
Misty might have been right about my crush on him before, but despite everything, he was as good as a stranger now.
And I didn’t do well with strangers.
Kameron chose to come back, while I was still stuck in Briar Hill.
I couldn’t leave this bubble without being sucked back into the life RaineFall forced on me, and I didn’t want to change my name so I could go out in public.
I loved my name, despite all the trouble it caused me, and changing it felt like it was letting Jack win.
I decided to use the typewriter as a distraction, but instead, it was a reminder of how much I’d changed.
How much my dreams had changed. How I was resentful of the most thoughtful gift I’d ever gotten in my life.
My younger self would've been all over it — she was the one who'd been convinced we’d become a New York Times Bestseller, even if it cost her blood, sweat, and tears.
She was the one who always had four notebooks on her at all times, just in case a new story idea popped into her head.
That Nalini had been full of dreams and imagination and life.
Now I was sitting at a desk in a crappy little apartment, my ball python staring at me from her tank as if she was trying to figure out what I was doing.
I was right there with Sylvie; I didn’t know what I was doing either.
All that was left was depression, disappointment, and exhaustion — and I wasn’t interested in writing the kind of “serious” fiction where those were the default settings.
I had no ideas; I had a blank piece of paper loaded into the typewriter, but no words to put on it.
And yet, the keys called to me in a way a blank document on my computer never did.
I felt a story inside of me, waiting to be unlocked.
I placed my fingers on the cold keys, a jolt of electricity running through my hands. I closed my eyes, took a breath…
And my phone buzzed, ruining the moment.
A strange feeling of regret and relief filled me as I checked who’d messaged me, and my eyes narrowed when I saw it was Kameron. I was curious, but apprehensive. Yes, I’d just decided to attempt to figure out how to coexist with him, but I didn’t realize we were back on texting terms.
The Terminator
Any chance you know anything about Dice everything I put on the page had been so insanely terrible it felt better to give up. But now? I had the hurt, the betrayal, the isolation it caused all on the page in black and white. It didn’t have to be good; it just had to be true.
For the first time, it didn’t matter, even with the knowledge that my writing was bad and directionless.
It didn’t even matter this piece of paper would never see the light of day.
It was the reminder I needed, that despite everything, I'd been giving too much of my energy to hating the Raine brothers and not enough to my passions. I didn’t need their permission to do what I loved — I could just do it.
And with a smile and a ding on the bell of the typewriter, I loaded in another piece of paper and finally got to work.