The drive back to Los Angeles feels much longer than the drive up to the lake did. The weather is just as nice, the scenery just as pretty, but without Annabelle in the seat next to me, chatting about her family and her research and asking me questions about my life, I’m bored and grouchy. I try listening to the radio, to my favorite podcast, to an audiobook … but none of it makes up for the fact that Annabelle isn’t there.

Logically, my mood is unreasonable. Annabelle and I only had one more night at the lake anyway, and there’s no reason we can’t get together again in a day or two. Really, I should be grateful: not only have I met a great girl, but I also have my meeting with Zac to look forward to—and that was, after all, the point of this crazy trip.

But something about the situation nags at me. I feel as if I’ve missed an opportunity or forgotten to do something important, and it leaves me feeling edgy and restless.

The sun slowly slides down the sky to my right as the scenery gradually changes from tall pines to concrete, and the traffic gets heavier and heavier … along with my mood.

It's a long, bad night when I get back.

My mood gets even darker when I get home to find that Alex isn’t even there. I grit my teeth—if I’ve given up my last night at the lake for nothing …

Eventually, after a series of texts, I track her down.

She has not sobered up since I talked to her. She poured the vodka down the drain like I asked her to, then called in some girlfriends who, thinking they were being supportive, took her to a bar, where she proceeded to get drunk all over again.

By the time I get to the bar, I’m angry at her, at her friends, and at myself, but when she sloppily throws herself into my arms and bursts into tears, I know I did the right thing in coming back. Alex may be a drama queen and walking disaster on several levels, but she’s still my best friend and the closest thing I have to family.

I drag her home and she spends the night alternating between crying, throwing up, and telling me what a failure she is. Alex has always had a flair for the dramatic—I’ve often told her she should have been an actress, not a writer—but I’ve never seen her as self-destructive as this.

It takes a long time to get the entire story out of her, but in the end, I piece it together. While Trevor was in the shower that morning, she snuck a look at his driver’s license, determined to find out more about him—more, I think, to prove to me that he wasn’t married than because she actually thought she’d find anything amiss.

Turns out his name wasn’t Trevor, but Thomas, and when she looked him up, she found a Facebook account full of photos of himself and his wife and two young kids. When she confronted him, he started off telling her that he and his wife were separated. When Alex told him that she wouldn’t see him again until he was actually divorced, he got pissy and told her not to ruin the “good thing” they had going. When she pressed him, he said she was an idiot not to have figured it out sooner, and eventually admitted that no, he wasn’t actually planning on leaving his wife—at least, not for a woman as messy and unsuccessful as Alex.

Alex sobs in my arms until my shirt is soaked with her tears, while I tell her over and over again that it isn’t her fault, she isn’t a loser, that things will get better. I help her to the bathroom and hold her hair back every time she needs to throw up, I manage to get a few glasses of water and some ibuprofen into her, and finally she falls asleep.

I crawl into bed around four in the morning, exhausted but unable to sleep. I’m filled with adrenaline-fueled rage at Trevor/Thomas, and also some anger at Alex herself, who—although I would never say it to her face—really has been stupid about letting him into her life. I’ve given up my last night at the lake with Annabelle, and although I know that coming back was the right thing to do, I can’t help resenting Alex and her drama a little.

I long to have Annabelle here, to curl myself around her, to hear the soft sounds of her breathing, to feel her snuggle in closer to me. Even at this hour, I’d be tempted to call her, but I know she’s still at the lake and won’t get the message until she leaves. But the doubts that I felt as I drove away from the lake are actually fading, rather than getting stronger as I’d feared.

How could this girl, of all the girls in LA, break down my barriers so completely?

In large part, I admit, it’s the lack of drama. Having grown up around constant drama, first with my sick mother, then my alcoholic father, then the various intrigues of my relationships with older women, it’s refreshing to be with a woman who deals with things at face value. I love Alex, but she lives and breathes drama. And of course, being an actor, I’m surrounded by other actors; not surprisingly they tend to be people who look for drama both on and off the screen. It exhausts me.

Annabelle, though, is like a cool drink of water on a hot day, or a warm blanket on a cold one. I’m comfortable with her; I can relax and be myself. Yeah, she’s a little insecure, but she knows it and she’s dealing with it … and I’m looking forward to helping her realize that she has absolutely nothing to be insecure about.

She’s amazing all the way through.

I finally fall asleep sometime around dawn, and sleep like the dead most of the next day.

I wake up bleary early the following evening. It takes me a while to orient myself, then I go to check on Alex. She’s still in bed, unconscious. My sleep schedule is going to be messed up for the next few days, thanks to my all-nighter with her, but I’m craving the coffee I usually have when I wake up. I make some decaf and hope for the best, then dig out my phone to call Annabelle. There’s a text that was sent last night:

You left your wallet :) I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.

Damn, I hadn’t even realized, but now that she mentions it, I remember putting it down with the bottles of wine when I went back to the lake house, but I don’t remember picking it up again. Good thing I didn’t get pulled over on the way home. I have some cash that I keep in a drawer in my room for emergencies. I might use that to run to the grocery store. But before that, I need a shower, and before that, I need to text Annabelle.

Hey babe, I text, hoping she’s back from the lake. I pause, not sure what to say next, but she texts back almost immediately.

Everything okay?

I sigh. Not great, but it could be worse. How was the rest of your time at the lake?

Her answer comes back quickly. I missed you :(

I smile. Missed you too. I don’t want to leave Alex alone just yet. Can I get the wallet from you tomorrow?

You don’t have your license. You shouldn’t drive :), she replies. I can bring it by tonight.

I want to see her, but I decide against it. If she comes over now, I’ll be tempted to talk her into staying, and I can’t afford another late night, not with my interview with Zac tomorrow. Plus I need to be alert so I can keep an eye on Alex. I’m still half worried she’ll do something stupid, like take a bunch of pills or try to drive to Seattle to track Trevor down. I want Annabelle to meet Alex, hopefully for them to be friends, but this is not the time.

This isn’t a good time, I text back reluctantly. Can I call you tomorrow? We’ll figure it out then.

Those little animated dots play along the bottom of my screen for a long time, like she’s writing an essay, but in the end, all I get back is a succinct, Sure.

I’m on the verge of typing “I love you,” but common sense catches up with me just in time. I shake my head. It’s way too soon for thoughts like that. I’m not sure what else to say, though. I think about it for too long, then finally write, I miss you.

She doesn’t text back.

I go through the apartment and make sure that there isn’t any more alcohol stashed anywhere. For good measure, I take Alex’s car keys and hide all the medication except for a couple of ibuprofen that I leave on her bedside table with a fresh glass of water.

She rolls over and half opens her eyes as I start to tiptoe out of her room.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask. It’s a stupid question; I know she feels like shit.

“I think I’m going to die,” she moans. I can’t tell if that’s heartbreak or hangover talking; probably both.

“It might be a day or so before you’re back to normal,” I tell her. Given how much alcohol she consumed yesterday, it might actually be longer, and that’s not including the time it’ll take her to recover from Trevor the married asshole, but there’s no point telling her that. “Listen, will you be okay for a little while if I go out?”

She nods then looks like she regrets it. “Where’re you going?”

“Gym to work out, then the grocery store. When I get back, I’m going to make you a good healthy meal, okay?”

She groans. “I can’t eat anything.”

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and you threw all of that up,” I point out. “I promise I’ll make you something that’ll stay down. You’ll feel better if you aren’t starving to death on top of everything else.”

She manages another moan in response and curls up and closes her eyes. I leave quietly.

Fortunately, the receptionist at the 24-hour gym down the street recognizes me, which is good since my i.d. is in my wallet. I work out as hard as I can for the next 45 minutes, working off the long drive yesterday, and the longer night that followed it. I hit the grocery store next and stock up on fresh vegetables, lean meats, and eggs.

When I get home, I make Alex a good dinner and coax her into eating it, then send her back to bed with a cup of tea. I should call Annabelle, but I'm emotionally spent from dealing with Alex. Plus, I'm down to twelve hours before my interview with Zac, and I've decided to focus on getting ready for that. Once it's done and out of the way, I’ll be able to bring all my attention back to Annabelle, the way she deserves.