salt-and-fire haired mom standing next to them, beaming. Upstairs there was a room in an awkward mix of blue plaid, a batman poster, and a sewing machine. The other room was untouched. The daughter’s bulletin board of friends’ pictures and a prom corsage were still hanging up.
Why did you sacrifice his room for your crafting hobby and not hers? I had wondered. I loved wondering about people’s stories.
Downstairs was a spacious kitchen, a den, a living room anchored by a couch that provided cushy seating for my butt when I found a book I couldn’t put down, and a study of furnished with unending oak that held a number of outdated items: a calculator, a typewriter, and a corded phone.
After several minutes and frustrated guttural cries, I lifted myself high enough and long enough off the ground to turn the knob and fall heavily into the foyer. Baloo nosed me in the neck when I didn’t move. I still didn’t move. I kept my forehead pressed to the cold marble and bit a trembling lip. I wanted my pills. I wanted to numb everything. My body was so weak. The cramps were a fresh kind, the kind that asked for water and that punished my body for its denial. My headache was just there to join the party. No purpose. Just pounding away, refusing to be left out of the fun.
I dragged myself the last several feet into the study, grateful that this endeavor didn’t include the stairs. I picked up the receiver. I didn’t even know what time it was.
Nine?
Midnight?
Four in the morning?
When the minutes felt like eras, keeping track no longer seemed important.
I dialed the number knowing full well this may have all been for nothing. I hadn’t called him in over a week. It was the middle of the night. He may not even be in the hospital anymore.
Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-ni-ye-ine .
For a second I thought I was singing the jingle as the phone rang but then I realized my lips were just moving and no sound was coming out. I rubbed them together. They scratched each other.
Still ringing.
The crying was close. So close.
I clutched the receiver. No, not close. Here. I was crying. I could feel the wet. A drop of it dangled on my nose, taking its time to fall. I lay on my side. When it fell, I’d hang up.
It fell.
I waited.
Still ringing.
I scrunched my eyes closed.
Still ringing.
I felt the loneliness well up inside me and swallow me like a Venus fly trap. It engulfed me fully. It stole all the air and suffocated me.
“Hello!”
His voice filled my head.
“Oh, my God, hey! Talk to me. Please.”
He sounded out of breath. Like the first time I ever called him.
My lips moved. Still no sound, just scratching.
“I know you’re there. I know you’re mad.”
“I need you.” I tried to make my voice strong, but all my effort could only produce a wispy sound.
Even so, he heard it like I shouted it in his face. I heard his franticness go still and his voice became grave. “Where are you?”
“Tucson, Arizona. House. Corner of Park and Windsong.” I coughed and drew the strength for a few more words. “My name is Tasha.”
“Tasha, I’m Alex. And I’m coming to get you. Don’t die.”
Chapter 17
Him
Shit.
I tore through the office door and down the hall to where I’d set up my living space. A set of three hospital rooms, one as my bedroom, one as an office, and one as a place to put my feet up, listen to music, and not think for a while. I made for my makeshift bedroom. I was in nothing but boxers and pajama pants.
I didn’t expect a call from her at two-thirty in the morning.
I didn’t expect a call from her ever again.
The ringing almost didn’t wake me. It was a foreign sound to hear in my sleep and just like the first time I heard the trill through the hallway I responded to it this time just as bewildered and confused. Only this time it was because it was wrapped in foggy sleep. Once I realized what it was, I leapt from my bed and nearly fell trying to get to it.
Why did you sacrifice his room for your crafting hobby and not hers? I had wondered. I loved wondering about people’s stories.
Downstairs was a spacious kitchen, a den, a living room anchored by a couch that provided cushy seating for my butt when I found a book I couldn’t put down, and a study of furnished with unending oak that held a number of outdated items: a calculator, a typewriter, and a corded phone.
After several minutes and frustrated guttural cries, I lifted myself high enough and long enough off the ground to turn the knob and fall heavily into the foyer. Baloo nosed me in the neck when I didn’t move. I still didn’t move. I kept my forehead pressed to the cold marble and bit a trembling lip. I wanted my pills. I wanted to numb everything. My body was so weak. The cramps were a fresh kind, the kind that asked for water and that punished my body for its denial. My headache was just there to join the party. No purpose. Just pounding away, refusing to be left out of the fun.
I dragged myself the last several feet into the study, grateful that this endeavor didn’t include the stairs. I picked up the receiver. I didn’t even know what time it was.
Nine?
Midnight?
Four in the morning?
When the minutes felt like eras, keeping track no longer seemed important.
I dialed the number knowing full well this may have all been for nothing. I hadn’t called him in over a week. It was the middle of the night. He may not even be in the hospital anymore.
Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-ni-ye-ine .
For a second I thought I was singing the jingle as the phone rang but then I realized my lips were just moving and no sound was coming out. I rubbed them together. They scratched each other.
Still ringing.
The crying was close. So close.
I clutched the receiver. No, not close. Here. I was crying. I could feel the wet. A drop of it dangled on my nose, taking its time to fall. I lay on my side. When it fell, I’d hang up.
It fell.
I waited.
Still ringing.
I scrunched my eyes closed.
Still ringing.
I felt the loneliness well up inside me and swallow me like a Venus fly trap. It engulfed me fully. It stole all the air and suffocated me.
“Hello!”
His voice filled my head.
“Oh, my God, hey! Talk to me. Please.”
He sounded out of breath. Like the first time I ever called him.
My lips moved. Still no sound, just scratching.
“I know you’re there. I know you’re mad.”
“I need you.” I tried to make my voice strong, but all my effort could only produce a wispy sound.
Even so, he heard it like I shouted it in his face. I heard his franticness go still and his voice became grave. “Where are you?”
“Tucson, Arizona. House. Corner of Park and Windsong.” I coughed and drew the strength for a few more words. “My name is Tasha.”
“Tasha, I’m Alex. And I’m coming to get you. Don’t die.”
Chapter 17
Him
Shit.
I tore through the office door and down the hall to where I’d set up my living space. A set of three hospital rooms, one as my bedroom, one as an office, and one as a place to put my feet up, listen to music, and not think for a while. I made for my makeshift bedroom. I was in nothing but boxers and pajama pants.
I didn’t expect a call from her at two-thirty in the morning.
I didn’t expect a call from her ever again.
The ringing almost didn’t wake me. It was a foreign sound to hear in my sleep and just like the first time I heard the trill through the hallway I responded to it this time just as bewildered and confused. Only this time it was because it was wrapped in foggy sleep. Once I realized what it was, I leapt from my bed and nearly fell trying to get to it.
Similar Books
