by C. M. Owens
Tears rip from my eyes more fiercely when I see the elevator. I never got to use that thing until Devin was briefly in my life. I press the button, but I can't use it. I can't be around anything that will remind me of him.
I run up the stairs while sobbing into my shirt sleeve.
The front door to my apartment squeals when I burst through it too forcefully and slam it shut behind me. Everything in my path gets thrown to the floor, including my picture frames that shatter as they crash to the ground.
More tears flow feverishly down my cheeks, scalding the delicate skin in their path. All the pictures on my wall endure my wrath as well.
I grab the ball bat I keep propped by the door for protection, and I start swinging away in my blind rage. The pictures shatter and fall to the ground, along with chunks of the sheetrock that nested behind them.
My fury only grows, fueling my tantrum. I sling the bat into the kitchen when I finish beating the hell out of everything I can, and it clanks against the tile floor as it sighs out its exhaustion.
The wild sobbing turns into a near howling as I slide down the wall until my rear finds the cool tile. I can't believe this is happening.
Why does it fucking hurt so much? I feel as though my heart is being ripped from my chest as shooting stabs of pain rupture everything inside of me.
I lie down on the shattered glass and cold floor as I continue my wailing. I smell something burning, but I don't give a damn. I hope I burn up with it.
A loud zapping sound erupts through the apartment, and sparks fly as the power shuts down, leaving me in the silence of the room with only my gasps for a breath and sad melody tainting the air.
The commotion continues on to several other rooms nearby, and it causes screams to erupt all down the hallway, but I don't flinch, move, or even react at all.
I'm numb. I'm beyond numb. I might as well be dead.
Chapter 6
Contagious
I can hear the knocking, but I refuse to answer the door. Keys start jingling as someone struggles to find the right one, but I still don't move.
The door creaks open, and a voice softly coos to me as I sit alone in the dark room, hiding from the sun behind the dark shades over the windows.
"Adisia? Are you okay?" Clara asks timidly while coming in.
"Never better," I say while scooping out a big wad of chocolate ice cream and shoveling it into my mouth like a slob.
I stare blankly at the television show I'm not actually watching to avoid her prying and pitying eyes.
"Hey, I've been trying to call. Your dad said your building had some sort of electrical problem."
As if I care about the electricity.
"Yeah. A few breaker boxes blew a couple days ago, but they've fixed them all. No worries," I say casually, but I still refuse to look at her.
"Adisia? What the hell happened in here?"
Her feet crunch across the mounds of shattered objects I've yet to pick up.
"I got pissed. That's the collateral damage. Please don't ask," I plead, a strain in my voice now.
She stands in front of me and sighs while staring at my oversized tub of chocolate consolation.
"I don't have to. I know what ice cream means."
She walks to the kitchen and pulls out a spoon. She heads back to me - still crunching on glass - and joins me on the couch.
"So he left?" she asks softly while dipping some of the ice cream out.
"Of course. I said I didn't want to talk about it. Right now, I just want to eat, drink, sleep, and forget about those fucked up blue eyes that swirl."
"Swirl?" she asks in bemusement.
"You've never noticed his eyes? They swirl like the ocean is coming to life."
She frowns as her arm wraps around my shoulders, and she pulls out another spoonful.
"I think you're sleep deprived," she sighs out. "His eyes are just blue, a crazy sort of blue, but just blue - no swirls."
Maybe I am crazy. I know I was the whole time I was with him.
"Why aren't you on your honeymoon?" I ask through a frozen mouthful in order to change the subject.
"Henry had to work. We're going to reschedule for the end of the month. I guess we'll see," she says with a devastated tone.
Tears start pouring from her eyes the moment the words escape from her lips, and I look at her curiously as she dips out a much larger wad of ice cream.
"Is it that bad?"
She wipes her drenched eyes with the back of her hand and tries to rid herself of the fiery stream.
“No. I don't know why I'm crying like this," she whimpers.
I smirk a little. I've cried so much that there are no tears left for me to cry.
"How to you look so hot when I know you're a filthy mess?" she wails through her tears.
I laugh at her sobbing question, and then I sigh, "I have to go get the mail. I'm sure it's pretty piled up."
"Okay," she whines as she digs into the ice cream bucket like a woman on a mission to freeze out her woes.
I walk out in my slinky pajama shorts and silky top. Very gingerly, I creep down the hall, and then I hear sobs erupting from behind every locked door along the way. The sounds are coming from every direction when I finally reach my mail slot downstairs.
I quickly grab the mounds of mail, and I see an elderly woman drying her eyes with a tissue. I can see outside through barred glass door, and there are people on the street sniffling and wiping their eyes. No one is walking by without tears in their eyes right now.
Apparently sadness is a heavy burden for the town of Frankford today. I jog back up the steps and walk in to see and hear Clara wailing louder - her face stained by a ridiculous amount of tears.
"I don't know why I can't stop crying," she heaves through her sobs.
Holy shit. I've never seen Clara like this.
I walk over and hug her, and she just howls that much louder. What's going on around here?
"I'm going to go. I think I've lost my fucking mind," she cries.
She never curses. Maybe things aren't good with Henry right now, and she doesn't want to talk about it.
"Okay. I'll call to check on you later," I say with concern, my own problems forgotten as I stare at my destroyed friend who seemed fine when she got here.
She swishes out the door, and I walk over the glass to grab a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off for the first time in my life.
Wow. I'm so pissed that I'm actually stronger.
I sit down and pull up my breakfast - ice cream and beer. What a way to live.
I wake up shivering, feeling eyes on me. I stare around the room, but I don't see anyone.
Sirens attack my ears, and I rush to close the window that's not open. I don't see any flashing lights, but it feels as though the sirens are in the room with me. I cover my ears in response, and the obnoxious noise slowly starts to subside.
The pitch black night shines into my room with its eerie lurk, and then I see someone on top of the building across from me.
A silhouette of a man is all I can make out at first, but I can almost see his face before he disappears.
Whoa. I have to be dreaming. There's no way I can see that far in this dark sky.
It almost looked like Devin, but there's no way. I'm sure I'll dream of seeing his face for a while… unfortunately.
I stand up and show no regard for my wellbeing as I walk barefoot over the glass in my apartment. I grab my toothbrush and begin scrubbing the wretched, foul taste from my mouth. An all day rendezvous with ice cream and beer hasn't been kind to my taste buds.
There's a knock at my door, and I glance over at the clock. It's almost three in the morning. Who in the hell could be here?
I don't even ask who it is before I swing open the door like a fool girl in a poorly screened horror flick. The toothbrush drops from my hand and thuds against the ground to mingle with the shattered fragments of my apartment when I see Devin standing in front of me.
He's w
earing a button-up shirt, dark jeans, and that swirling gaze that makes my knees wobble. I almost get sick at the very sexy sight of him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I explode the second my anger replaces my astonishment.
He holds up the sign that had been posted to my front door. It says: Not accepting anymore flowers.
I cross my arms, and he tosses a bouquet of flowers to the ground.
"Can we talk?" he murmurs softly.
"No," I growl furiously.
I don't hesitate to slam the door in his face. I lock it as soon as it shuts, and I fight the tears I thought had dried up. My hands fist at my side, and the livid adrenaline burns through me with such a ravaging motion, I actually start sweating. I swear I see fumes exuding from me.
How can he do this right now? I'm finally showing some composure, and now he wants to show back up. They always do this. Why do they always do this?
"I really want to talk to you," he yells through the door.
"Well you should have thought of that before you crushed me," I whisper to myself.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to crush you," he murmurs with guilt oozing from his tone.
He couldn't have heard that. I'm delirious at this point, so it's possible I said it louder than a whisper.
"Adisia, I'm desperate to see you. Please talk to me," his muffled voice says through the door.
"No! Go away," I yell.
I sit on the bed and rock back and forth while reentering the sobbing fiasco I only recently escaped. My chest hurts so badly that I almost can't breathe. I feel like I'm having a panic attack right now, and there's no brown paper bag handy to rid me of my hyperventilation.
"I'm not leaving until I talk to you," he says loudly.
"Then sleep in the hallway. I'm not going to work, and I just had groceries delivered today. I can hold up in here for as long as I need to," I heave out through my panicked, uncontrollably rasp breaths.
"Adisia, please," he pleads.
"No! I told you not to call me. I thought it was pretty obvious I didn't want to speak to you ever again. I don't care why you're here. I just want you to go away."
My tears just fall all the harder, my breaths come in spurts, and I feel like I'm about to pass out as the shadows of darkness invade the corners of my eyes.
"I can't. I have to see you. Please, just speak to me," he begs.
"No," I whisper in a nearly muted tone as my sobbing starts to grip my air all the more fervently, forcing me to almost lose the consciousness I'm desperately trying to keep.
I can hear his footsteps leaving the front of my door just before my eyes finally shut. My pillow is strangling under my tight grasp, and I release it as the adrenaline rush I'm coming down from makes me start shaking violently. I lose my connection to the world around me in that instant.
Please let this have been a dream.
I wake up to the brightly lit noon sky, vivid with promise and mischief at once. I look around, and think back to my bizarre nightly excursion.
My breaths are normal, not erratic and painful. My head aches from the exerted energy it took to produce so many tears, but it's not as painful as I was expecting.
It had to have been a dream. There's no way all that happened.
I warily climb out of the bed and tiptoe over to my front door. I take a deep breath to summon my strength and jerk open the door like I'm ripping off a Band-Aid. There's no one in the hallway, and my sign is hanging on the nail again. There aren't any flowers tossed to the side - not even a petal lying loosely on the ground.
It was a dream.
I slowly close the door, and sigh as I lean against it. Then I gasp loudly when I look around at the room absent of all the destruction it should hold. In my just-wakened fog, I hadn't even noticed I didn't have to walk across glass to make it to the door. Now there's nothing to prove my little tantrum ever happened.
Everything is clean, neat, and picked up. The mess of takeout food is gone, and the beaten frames are missing as well. My pictures are stacked in a neat pile on my table, only slightly scathed by the few scratches they endured from the broken glass.
I walk across the floor that is devoid of any lingering fragments.
I stare at the wall I butchered, and it's completely patched with a fresh coat of paint. Now I'm not sure which part is a dream. I've gone completely crazy.
"Good afternoon," a familiar, warm voice sounds out, and chills instantly invade my body as I jump.
I scream as I turn and meet the eyes of Devin who is walking out of my kitchen.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I yell.
"Sorry I scared you. I need to talk to you," he sighs in exasperation.
I glare at him and his perfectly clean, sexy self. It pisses me off to know how raging hot he is after he just shattered me.
"I don't want to talk. No second chances. Remember?"
"I don't want a second chance. I want to help you," he murmurs.
"I don't need your fucking help. I hate pity worse than I hate liars and cheaters," I snap.
"I never cheated," he defends.
"Well give the boy a medal for not cheating on me the whole two or three days we were a couple. I'm sorry, but that doesn't change anything. Get out! I don't need your help."
I hold the door open and motion for him to leave, but he props up against the wall to protest my gestured demand.
"I'm not going anywhere. I just picked up a slew of picture frames, shattered glass, and then I patched holes all in your apartment. You haven't gone to work, answered your phone, or even left this place at all in days. You do need help, and I can help you."
"I swear I'll call the cops if you don't get the fuck out of my house," I growl.
"Adisia, you need me to help you. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. I know an expert who specializes in this area, and I'll carry you there kicking and screaming if I have to. Now go get dressed."
"No," I declare, my feet digging into the ground to take my stance and emphasize my fervent protest.
He steps toward me, and I waver on my stand as I step back in response.
"If you touch me, I will scream. You will be arrested. Go away," I hiss through gritted teeth.
"No. I can play this game, too. I care about you, and -"
"Care about me?" I snark in interruption. "Is this really how you show someone you care? You trample all over them, and call them to tell them you're not really interested anymore?"
"I never said that," he snaps, his eyes chastising me. "I was trying to keep from hurting you. I handled it poorly, but I swear I was doing what I thought I should. This has been torture for me, too. You haven't been suffering alone."
"Pardon me if I don't show too much sympathy for your self-inflicted wounds. I'm not the one who called you to tell you it was over. I would have had the balls to do it to your face."
He winces under my cutting words, but he knows he can't argue with the facts.
"Get dressed, I'm taking you with me in fifteen minutes - ready or not," he says coldly.
I roll my eyes and plop down on my couch like an errant, surly teen. I put my headphones in and open my magazine to obnoxiously display my complete indifference to his empty threat.
I'm glad I actually showered yesterday and put on a fresh set of satin pajamas.
I'm in the middle of a page when I feel my body being lifted into the air. I instantly start screaming and fighting uselessly against the strength he's subduing me with.
He carries me bridal style out the door, and another guy joins us the moment we reach the hall. He shuts the door behind us, and Devin steps into the open elevator awaiting his abducting ass.
I scream louder, but no one comes to my aide. None of my self absorbed, useless neighbors even bother to poke their heads out to investigate my screams for help.
Assholes.
I'm flailing around uselessly in his arms as the elevator doors close.
"Let me go now," I squeal.
"Are you sure she needs help? She looks pretty sprightly to me. Maybe you're the only one suffering," the mystery guy whispers in a nearly muted tone. I don't think I was meant to hear, but he expected Devin to hear it.
"I'm not sprightly, I'm pissed. What kind of an egomaniac comes into his ex's house and kidnaps her so he can help coax her through the damn breakup. Get the fuck over yourself."
The mystery guy leans over and looks directly at me. I stop squirming slightly as he speaks.
"You heard that?" he asks with surprise.
"Yeah. Now hear this. You're fucking kidnapping me. It's a crime you will serve time in a federal prison for. Do you understand that?" I blare.
His eyes cut away from mine as he returns his attention to my kidnapper restraining my escape attempts.
"She's not the sobbing mess you said she was," the guy says to Devin.
"It's not just the emotions. Besides, you haven't seen her when no one's looking," he whispers.
"And you have? You sick son of a stalker bitch. Put me down now," I screech.
"I'm not putting you down. Now either I can tie you up or you can calm the hell down," he scolds, as if he's talking to a child.
Bastard. He's kidnapping me, and scolding me like I'm some kid who didn't clean their room up.
The other guy starts putting my fuzzy boots on my bare feet, and I start kicking wildly to try and connect with him. He just laughs in response while batting down my feet that prove to be ineffective against him.
I glare at him, and he holds his hands up innocently while giving me such a condescending smirk.
The door dings on the elevator, and I start screaming in vain once again. A man even holds the door open for us as we pass through the entrance of my apartment building.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Devin tosses me into the backseat of the black SUV that is waiting at the curb in true abduction fashion. I instantly scramble over to the other side and tug on a door that refuses to open.
"The child lock is on. Don't bother," he says while sitting down beside me.
The other guy jumps in the driver's seat and cranks the car. He glances at my death stare in the rearview mirror and laughs a little harder.