24. Flick
Flick
My feet drag across the sidewalk like they’re weighted with yarn-soaked wool. The familiar storefront of Knit Happens looms before me, its cheerful window display of autumn-colored skeins mocking my mood. I reach for the doorknob and freeze.
Is this something I really want to do? See people? Expose myself when I feel like I’m being held together with cheap glue and Scotch tape?
One hard wind, and I’ll fly into pieces. The kind that can’t be put back together.
The late afternoon sun warms my back, but I’m cold all the way through. My chest aches—not from the pericarditis this time, but from the gaping hole where Sebastian used to be. I press my palm against my sternum, willing the pain to ease.
Maybe I should just turn around, get back in my car, and drive home. The couch and a carton of ice cream are looking really good right about now. I could lose myself in dyeing, let the colors bleed together until everything else fades away.
But I also know that won’t help—not really. The Band-Aids I put on my wounds will fall off soon enough, and I’ll be just as down as before, my life crumbling to pieces around me.
So, I might as well keep going. Because what else am I going to do?
Taking a breath that catches halfway, I open the door. The bell chimes overhead, too cheerful for my mood. The rest of the Chronic Pain Crafters are already gathered in their circle on plump cushions, wool and needles in various stages of progress. I’m fifteen minutes late.
The shop smells like lavender sachets and the faint mustiness of wool—usually comforting, now just another reminder of everything that’s shifted in my world.
“Hey.” Maya looks up from her intricate lace pattern, concern flickering across her features.
“Sorry I’m late.” My voice comes out rough, like I’ve been gargling gravel. “I was finishing up work.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I did spend an hour staring at undyed skeins, my hands too shaky to trust with the dye pots. Even with the steroids supposedly helping, my joints screamed every time I tried to lift the heavy water-filled vessels.
“How is the latest dye lot going?” Devin’s crochet hooks pause mid-stitch.
Maybe it’s the mention of work. Or the way she looks at me, so innocently, so unaware of the hell I’ve been sludging through. Whatever the reason, I crack.
The sob erupts before I can stop it, raw and ugly. Within two seconds, I’m crying properly, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down my face and probably ruining the mascara I’d carefully applied to look human. The girls stare in shock for a moment, needles and hooks frozen mid-air.
Then they’re around me, a warm circle of understanding.
“I’m okay.” I frantically swipe at my cheeks, mascara definitely smearing now. “I’m okay.”
“You’re clearly not.” Alexis produces a box of tissues from somewhere—the good kind with lotion. “And it’s fine that you’re not.”
I dab at my eyes, trying to stuff the rest of my pain deep down where it belongs. But it’s like trying to untangle laceweight that’s been through the wash—the more I pull, the worse it gets.
“It’s stress. There’s so much going on, you know?” My voice wobbles dangerously.
Hannah’s gaze finds mine across the circle, and her silence speaks volumes. She knows I’m lying. She’s always been able to see through my deflections, even when I desperately wish she couldn’t.
The weight of her knowing is too much. I sigh, shoulders dropping. “It’s not just that. I ended things with Sebastian.”
Devin’s gasp is audible.
“You did?” Maya’s eyes widen. “What happened?”
Hannah guides me to a cushion with gentle hands. “Sit. I’ll make tea.”
She moves to the station in the corner where we keep an electric kettle and an impressive collection of herbal teas. Her movements are careful, measured—I recognize the signs of a pain day even as she tries to hide it.
“He was trying to manage my life, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.” The words tumble out as the others settle around me, their projects temporarily abandoned.
“Your life?” Devin’s brow furrows. “Like, your work?”
“More than that.” I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. The debate only takes a millisecond before I’m spilling everything. “Managing my house. My symptoms. My health. I... had an appointment the other day, and my inflammation levels are still high despite the steroids I’m on.”
I pause, heart hammering. This is the moment. The truth I’ve been carrying alone for too long.
“And I also have pericarditis. Inflammation of the heart.”
“You do?” Alexis’s bangles jangle as her hands still completely. “Since when?”
Hannah returns with a steaming mug of chamomile and passes it to me. Still, she says nothing, but I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes before she looks away. That hurts worse than any physical pain.
“A while ago.” My voice cracks. “I didn’t tell you all because I felt that if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t be as much of a big deal. I know that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.” Maya reaches over to squeeze my knee. “I understand completely. Sometimes naming things makes them too real.”
I wrap both hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, trying to pull myself together but failing spectacularly. It’s like the more I share, the more undone I become. Years of careful control unraveling faster than a dropped stitch.
But... maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve been keeping all of this to myself for too long, each secret adding weight until I can barely stand. I’m starting to see that it’s eating me up from the inside out, more corrosive than any dye chemical.
“My doctor told me to slow down.” The words taste bitter. “The pericarditis could be temporary, or it could be a longer thing. A dangerous thing. It could lead to surgery down the road.”
“Is it painful?” Maya’s voice is soft, understanding.
I bite my lip again. “It’s pretty bad. Like someone’s squeezing my heart in their fist. It stops me in my tracks, for sure. And that’s it. That’s what I hate the most.”
The frustration bubbles up, hot and familiar.
“I’m finally making real progress in my career.
My YouTube and Twitch channels are growing—thousands of new followers just this week.
I have more specialty orders than I can handle.
Custom colorways, exclusive yarns for indie dyers.
I know what my doctor said, but I can’t just stop doing things. ”
My hands gesture wildly, tea sloshing dangerously. “I have bills to pay, and opportunities won’t be there forever. The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re sick. If this pericarditis does do me in... if I die early... I want to make sure that I achieved everything I wanted to. It’s important.”
The last word comes out fierce, desperate. I let out a shuddering sigh, feeling like I’ve just set down a thousand-pound weight. The need to pursue my goals is still there, burning bright, but the sting from not achieving them yet has lessened somehow.
“I’m sorry.” I hang my head, watching a tear splash into my tea. “I didn’t feel good about keeping this from you?—”
“You don’t owe us anything.” Alexis’s hand covers mine, warm and steady.
“It’s your life. You don’t have to tell us everything.
But I understand it. I also feel the pressure of achieving all my goals before I run out of time.
It’s like chronic illness has sped everything up.
The years feel like they’re slipping through my fingers. ”
“Yep.” Devin picks up her temperature blanket again, fingers moving automatically. “We’re supposed to slow down, but how can we do that when we’re working with fewer resources than most people? Less energy, more medical appointments, bodies that betray us at the worst moments.”
Hannah finally speaks up from her cushion, where she’s settled with her own knitting. “I know I’m guilty of burning the candle at both ends sometimes. I don’t even realize it until someone else points it out... five or six times.”
There’s a group chuckle, rueful and knowing. Everyone can relate to pushing too hard, ignoring the warning signs until collapse is inevitable.
Hannah’s smile is gentle, and the warmth of it reaches my deepest wounds. It’s such a relief to have her talking to me, looking at me without judgment, that I almost start crying again.
“You’re not alone,” Maya says, adjusting her project—lacework so delicate it looks like captured fog. “We get it. The push and pull between taking care of ourselves and living our lives.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words inadequate for the gratitude flooding through me.
“Also, I’m sorry about Sebastian.”
His name is a dart to my heart, sharp and precise. I wince, remembering his hands in mine, the way he looked at me like I was something precious. The way he tried to wrap me in bubble wrap when I needed wings.
“It’s for the best.” The lie tastes like ash.
Even as I say it, I wish things could be different. He’s such a great guy in so many ways—kind, dedicated, genuinely caring. But his need to micromanage me, to fix me like I’m one of his injured animals, is a deal-breaker.
Yet... it was nice while it lasted. So, so nice. The morning coffees, the gentle kisses, the way he made me feel seen—until he saw too much and decided I needed saving.
And I can’t help but want the good times back, even knowing they came with a price I couldn’t pay.
The conversation shifts, the girls discussing a rumor that the owner of the Italian restaurant is dating the manager of the coffee shop. I half listen, mechanically sipping my cooling tea, but my heart isn’t in it. After baring my soul, I feel hollow.
Part of me wants to go home and crawl into bed, maybe wake up to find this was all a terrible dream. But there’s one more thing I need to get off my chest, one more secret that’s been eating at me.
I clear my throat, the sound too loud in the cozy space. “Um, there’s something else I need to tell you guys.”
Everyone’s attention snaps back to me, projects lowering to laps.
I take a shaky breath, fingers twisting in the hem of my sweater. “Someone has been following me.” My voice barely rises above a whisper. “At first it was just some weird messages through my social media sites. Comments that were too specific, too knowing. But lately, it’s escalated.”
They all just stare at me with their mouths open in stunned silence.
“They dropped a package off at my house—that’s the teal cashmere I asked you all about in the group chat. Then they were in the coffee shop one day, messaging me about my order while I was standing in line. Real-time commentary on what I was wearing, what I ordered.”
My hands shake as I set down the mug. “I’ve heard noises outside my condo at night. Footsteps on the stairs when no one should be there. Sometimes I feel like someone’s there watching me through the windows...”
The silence that follows is deafening. Even the usual street sounds seem muted.
Hannah finds her voice first, and there’s steel in it. “Flick, that sounds really serious. Have you gone to the police?”
“I have.” I fiddle with a loose thread on my sweater, needing something to do with my hands. “And I have cameras set up at my front door and back door now. I’m keeping the police updated on everything.”
Talking about the cameras makes me think of Sebastian—how he insisted on installing them himself, making sure they covered every angle. How safe I felt with him there. I push the thought away.
“At first I thought it was harmless, just an overeager fan. Or that I was overreacting. But now it’s really starting to scare me, so I just wanted to let you guys know what’s going on.”
“We’ll help however we can.” Alexis’s voice is fierce, protective. “We’ll keep an eye out around town. If this creep shows up again, they’ll have to deal with all of us.”
Maya nods emphatically. “And you’re never walking home alone again. Not while we’re around. We’ll set up a schedule.”
A lump rises in my throat, thick with emotion. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that, how heavy the weight of these secrets had become. Carrying them alone had been slowly crushing me.
“Thanks, you guys,” I whisper, voice cracking with emotion.
Hannah leans over and squeezes my hand. “You’re not dealing with this alone, Flick. We’ve got you. That’s what this group is for—we carry each other’s burdens.”
I squeeze back, grateful beyond words. “You guys are the best. Really. Now enough about me and my problems. Let’s talk about something else to get my mind off everything.”
As the evening winds down, the light outside fading to purple dusk. Devin, Maya, and Alexis gather their things and all stop to hug me on their way out the door, while Hannah hangs back by the counter.
“Need help locking up?” I turn to Hannah, prepared for the possibility that she hasn’t fully forgiven me and might turn down the offer.
“Everything is put away, but would you like to go back to your place and talk?” She adjusts her glasses—that nervous tell I know so well. “I would invite you to my house, but Michael and Katie are there, and I was thinking, you know... we need privacy.”
“I would love that.” Emotion clogs my throat, thick and overwhelming.
I’ve made such a big mistake by keeping the truth from my best friend. I deserve nothing less than being cut off. Yet here she is, extending her hand, offering grace I haven’t earned.
And I couldn’t be more grateful.