Very few weren’t.

But the one who saw me do that? The one Lottie had picked for me, tried to set us up, he’d asked me out, and I’d wanted to go, but I refused? That one saw me do it?

Forget about it.

And now…

I didn’t know.

They were good people. Good friends.

We’d been kidnapped together!

But what did I say?

When they were so together and didn’t let anyone shit on them, how did I explain why I continued to take care of my dad?

Especially when they knew it was him. They knew it was my dad who was the reason Ryn and Axl saw me self-harm.

And how did I share what I’d never shared? That I rented studio space, and worked on pieces, but never even attempted to show one, much less sell one?

Bottom line, how did I tell four totally together women who had been in my life for a good while, who all counted me as friend, that I had not let them into my life hardly at all?

Do unto others, right?

And I thought, if I cared about someone, gave them my time, and they didn’t let me in, how would I feel?

Not good.

Of course, I could just let them in.

But the longer I left it, the harder that became.

And now…was now.

I’d blown off Lottie’s pre-bachelorette party to go out to dinner with a (probable) felon.

And none of them had texted again after my text.

I wasn’t sure I could come back from that.

The only thing I was sure of was that, right then, I was going to head into my studio. I hadn’t been there in at least a week.

And maybe, what it used to be able to do—give me focus, calm, and an outlet to express things I didn’t even admit to myself—it would do again.

Not to mention, Brett had told me last night over steaks that he’d had a look (breaking in to do so, and how I didn’t feel disturbed and invaded by that, I had no idea) and he thought my stuff was “the shit.”

“Want that piece in my living room. The girl folded in on herself,” he’d said. “Think about how much you’ll charge. I’ll get you the cash and arrange to have it moved.”

He’d actually said that.

And the girl folded in on herself, a piece I called “After,” made of concrete and rusted iron with some copper wire and carefully selected bits of stone, was one of the favorite things I’d done so far.

I didn’t want to sell it.

It was me.

But if someone wanted to buy it…