Not Looking for Love: Episode 4

by Bourne, Lena

I push away from him and stare at his bloodshot eyes. "Please, Dad. Mom wouldn't have wanted this."

  The words choke me, and make his cheek twitch. But it's the truth. I can hear her yelling at him from where I stand, telling him to pull it together, to go on. She asked me to be there for him too, only I haven't been. I let her down. I let him stay in this house all alone, clear out her stuff, try to sleep in a bed a few doors down from where she died. While I did what? Killed my own baby. Chased a guy who clearly never wanted me in his life. Felt sorry for myself. Didn't even study.

  Dad's staring at me like I just struck him, but then his eyes soften and he looks back at the floor. "I suppose you're right."

  I follow him from the room and down to the kitchen. Despite the fact that the sky outside looks like dawn has barely broken, it's already almost ten. I fix the coffee, while Dad carries the kitchen trash can the living room. Glass breaking startles me a few moments later. After he's done emptying the bar, he carries the full garbage bag to the bin outside.

  "There, that's done," he says when he comes back in.

  I wish today was trash day, because I can't shake the knowledge that he'll go digging through the dumpster for a bottle as soon as night falls. But there's nothing more I can say, nothing he can promise me that I'll believe.

  We sip our coffees in silence. I'm trying to stare down a new day of Scott not calling me back, and failing miserably.

  "We could go out for lunch," Dad suggests, but his face has a greenish tint, and I'm pretty sure he'd rather not eat anything.

  "I'm going into the city for a bit," I finally say and rise to dump my half finished, cold coffee into the sink. "Maybe dinner."

  He smiles at me, the wrinkles around his eyes cutting deep into the dark bags under them. "That does sound better."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I have no idea if Janine will talk to me, or if she's even working today, but I have to try. She's the only person who might be able to convince Scott to talk to me again. Or at least give me some answers.

  Once I reach the store she works at, I circle the block three times before I get up the nerve to enter. The store's packed, but I don't see her anywhere. I pick up a random bra off the shelf, to look less conspicuous as I'm craning my neck, looking around like a maniac trying to locate her. I finally see her escorting a lady out of the first floor fitting rooms and nearly send a woman toppling to the ground as I rush to reach her.

  "Janine!" I call out before she can disappear back into the changing room. Her head whips around, her honey colored curls bouncing against her shoulders, and I watch her expression change from surprise to anger as she watches me approach. But at least she's not turning away.

  "Can I help you with something?" Her eyes flick to the leopard print bra I'm still clutching. "That doesn't seem like your style at all."

  "I have to talk to you," I say, shoving the bra onto a shelf. Only suddenly, I have no idea what to say. Her eyes are filled with cold hatred, even though her perfect lips are smiling at me.

  "You want some help picking out a bra?" she asks.

  "No, that's not why I'm here," I say. "I…I…I need to talk to Scott."

  Her eyes narrow. "So call him."

  She thinks I'm insane, she must.

  "He won't answer my calls," I stammer. Why is she making me say all this? She has to know. I'm certain he's told her by now.

  She shrugs and smiles at a customer walking by. "Then I guess he doesn't want to talk to you."

  "Please, can you ask him to? Can you tell him I need to speak to him?" The words fly from my mouth like I'd rehearsed them.

  She shakes her head.

  "Please, you have to. You're my only hope." I have no idea where these words are coming from. All I know is that if she says no, I'll cease to exist. I'll just disappear, turn into air, float away like I never was.

  She laces her arm under mine and pulls me to the escalator. I fight her off, push her away, sure she's about to toss me out of the store without even saying anything. Just like Scott is doing, tossing me aside, ignoring me like I don't even exist.

  "Relax," she whispers, then smiles at a co-worker who's eyeing us questioningly. "I'm just going on my break," she says to her.

  "Come with me, and don't make any more of a scene," Janine hisses at me and takes my arm again, pulling me down the escalator.

  She's only wearing a thin black dress, and the wind outside is cold enough to reach bone. I hope she doesn't get sick because of me.

  "Look," she says after she finally lets me go just outside the door, her teeth already chattering. "I have no idea what's going on, but if Scott's not talking to you he has his reasons, and I think you should respect that."

  "I just want him to tell me why," I plead. There's no way I'm leaving here with a "No," from her. "Can you ask him to talk to me?"

  She's got her arms wrapped around her chest, but she's not glaring at me in anger anymore. "I can't just tell him what to do. He hasn't mentioned any of this to me. I can't…"

  "Please."

  She sighs and looks off into the distance, past my shoulder. "It's not my place."

  That's a lie. She had no trouble shrieking at him to throw me out on the night he picked me up from the clinic.

  "You're the only person who can help me."

  Her eyes whip back to mine, hard and dark now. "If he doesn't want to talk to you, he won't. It's as simple as that. I won't get into the middle of this. I have enough to worry about without arguing with Scott on top of it."

  Tears are icy against my cheeks, and I never even felt them spill. The wind is twirling around me, embracing me. With the next gust, I'll be gone.

  She sucks on her teeth impatiently. "Oh, fine, whatever. I'll tell him you stopped by. Not that it'll do any good. Once he makes up his mind, that's usually it."

  The pressure of the wind lessens, and I can finally take a breath.

  "Thank you," I say to her back, because she's already walking into the store.

  The wind doesn't touch me anymore, and I'm warm like the sun's come out. Only it's not the sun that's warming me, but the hope building like a furnace in my chest.

  Midnight comes and goes, and there's no call from Scott, no text, nothing. Hope is a pile of cold ashes in my chest now, swelled by the ruins of all the thousands of reunions I kept picturing throughout the day.

  Dad's snoring softly and I tiptoe across his room to sneak a sleeping pill from his bathroom. I won't sleep without it and I need to. My hands are shaking, my whole body cramping up as I imagine swallowing the whole bottle of pills. Because facing another day with no hope seems impossible right now.

  "But it will be better in the morning," I hear my mom's voice loud and clear in my ears. "Things are always better in the morning."

  She's standing in the bathroom, smiling serenely, as insubstantial as the light, but real nonetheless.

  And I know she's wrong. None of this will be easier in the morning, but I believe her anyway. Because she's my mom and she loves me, and she wants me to be happy, to live. She told me so, before she died, so I have to live, for her. Because she can't.

  My phone's ringing, but I don't want to wake up. We're sitting on the beach, me and my mom, watching the sunset, her hand warm and firm in mine, her smile glowing in the near darkness. It's like she never got sick, never died, never left me, and I can't leave her now.

  But the phone won't stop ringing and the dream's already fading to black, my mom drifting back down into her grave. What if it's Scott calling?

  I jerk out of bed groping for my phone, my eyes wide open. But it's only Gran.

  "Yes," I say, a little too sharply maybe, but the murder of hope will do that.

  "I thought you were coming today," she says.

  "No, Gran. I'll come next weekend. I have to study today." The ease with which the lie rolls off my tongue surprises even me.

  "Oh, well, yes, school is important."

  "It is. I'll see you next weekend." I wait for her to say goodbye
.

  The last dregs of the serene happiness left by the dream of Mom are gone now. I take a long hot shower and pack my stuff.

  Dad's working at the dining room table when I come down. I can't smell any whiskey on him as I bend down to kiss his cheek. At least there's that.

  "I'm going back, I have some homework for tomorrow," I tell him and disappointment floats through his eyes, but it's a fleeting thing.

  "Yes, alright. I have a lot of work to do today too," he says and smiles at me. "I'll see you next weekend? It's Thanksgiving break, isn't it?"

  I shrug. "I'll call you."

  I came here to be closer to Scott, but that's never going to happen now, and a whole week here seems too much right now.

  "I'm coming down to visit Gran next weekend, so we'll make plans then?" I offer, because the disappointment is back in his eyes.

  It's the best I can do and I hope it's enough.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The cemetery gates are squeaking in the wind. I've already taken off the charm bracelet my mom gave me, and the little figurines are digging into my palm, because I'm clutching it so hard.

  But if I'd never lost the bracelet by Kate's pool, I would never have met Scott, and my heart wouldn't be this open, bleeding, stinging, gushing wound now. So I have to give it back to my mom, or I'll never have any closure. It's a stupid plan, and the rational Gail knows it, but the bracelet's the only thing still tying me to Scott. I've already deleted his number from my phone, but somehow that's not enough. And Mom will keep the bracelet safe for me.

  The cemetery is deserted, eerie in the fog that doesn't seem to be lifting today. The soil is damp, and I have no trouble digging a hole by my mom's tombstone. I stuff the bracelet inside, tears running down my cheeks, because I can't feel her anywhere.

  "Keep it safe for me, Mom," I whisper anyway, because maybe she can hear. "I will be back for it one day, once things get easier."

  I stand, wiping my tears on my sleeve. I wish I'd brought some flowers, because her grave looks so empty, so forgotten. But they'd just rot anyway, and she's not really here.

  My feet are lead as I walk away, and rational Gail is screaming in my head that I need to go get the bracelet back now, because someone will find it and steal it, and it's the only thing of my mom's that I can bear to wear. But I ignore her, even though tears are blinding me now, because the illusion of closure is more important to the insane, messed-up Gail.

  I keep my head down and jog to the gate, before I can change my mind. And run smack into someone.

  "Sorry, excuse me," I mutter automatically, reeling back, not lifting my eyes.

  Whoever it was isn't saying anything, but I can feel their gaze piercing me like maybe an apology isn't enough.

  I look up and my breath hitches in my throat. "Scott."

  I don't even know if I actually said it, or just thought it.

  Then I take a step toward him, not sure if to hug him or hit him. He's just staring at me, his hands in his pockets, his eyes black and dead.

  "Why haven't you called me back?" I yell, a fresh flow of tears wetting my cheeks.

  "I told you why," he says and just hearing his voice makes the sun come out.

  "No, you didn't. You never told me why." I'm standing right next to him, craning my neck up so I can see into his face. But his eyes don't change color, don't soften, and his face is a mask.

  "We can't see each other anymore." His voice is cold like the deepest, deadest winter night.

  I wrap my arms around his waist, because it's all I wanted to do for every waking minute this past week, and in my dreams too. He just stands there, his body as hard as the tombstone on my mom's grave. And rational Gail is loud again, yelling at me to let him go, but I can't. He smells of fresh snow, and clean wind and if I let go he will disappear again.

  He pushes me away, holding me at arms length. "It has to stop, Gail. It's over. Don't call me anymore."

  I'm shaking now, and if he lets me go I'll probably scratch his eyes out. "You can't tell me that. What we had, it was real. You can't tell me you didn't want more. I'll never believe it."

  "It was real messed up, that's for sure," he whispers, but his voice isn't as cold anymore, and his eyes are a light blue now, waves licking the shore on a hot summer day. All I want is for him to pull me to him, kiss me long and deep. Every cell in my body is screaming for it.

  But he lets me go and I nearly topple into him.

  "Why is this so hard for you to understand?" he asks, sounding more like the Scott I met by Kate's pool, the one who wanted to save me. "Just leave me alone."

  "I can't!" I'm crying for real now, sobs sticking in my throat.

  "Stop it," he says, his voice higher now, but sharp with finality.

  I grope for his hand, clutching it tight in mine, wiping my tears away with the other, so I can see him. But he yanks his hand away.

  "Why are you acting like this? You couldn't get away from me fast enough before. Why can't you just walk away now?" His voice is shaky, and I know he's angry, I can feel it like heat rising off a fire. My whole body is tingling from his gaze, and I know he wants to hold me, to kiss me just as much as I want him to. Only he's not, and his hands are deep in his pockets again.

  "Why are you doing this? Is it just for revenge, because I did the same to you?" I don't know where the question came from, and I shouldn't have said it. Even if the answer is yes, I don't want to know, don't want him to say it.

  "Yeah, that's it." He's just glaring at me, his eyes black and hard again, a muscle in his neck twitching, keeping rhythm to the beat of my racing heart. I have no idea whether he's serious or being sarcastic, his level tone and expressionless face reveal nothing.

  Tears are still streaming down my face, and I hiccup trying to keep the sobs in.

  "It's for your own good, Gail," he finally says, hard as though through gritted teeth, his eyes still coal black. "I never should've started anything with you. And I can still fix that."

  And then he's running away, out through the screeching gate, and across the parking lot. I'll never catch him, never be fast enough. And I've deleted his number, so I can't even call him. My knees collide with the ground hard, my teeth snapping shut, but I hardly feel it. Because he said it, he told me, and nothing is better now. It's just over.

  I don't know how I got home, or why. I should've just stayed at the cemetery; it's where everything I love is buried. But rational Gail wouldn't stop hounding me until I stood up and slipped into my car, started the engine and got on the highway. Pain passes, it has to, because everyone's always telling me that, and they can't all be wrong.

  My phone ringing wakes me in the dead of night. It's a strange number calling, but the panic rising in my chest over how it can't possibly be anything but terrible news is still far away, as though on the other side of a thick glass wall.

  "Yes," I say, my voice groggy, my eyes still half shut, because I've only just taken the sleeping pill, and I really shouldn't be awake.

  "Did you get home alright?" Scott asks and my eyes shoot open.

  "I must have, because you just woke me," I manage, my voice light now, because I'm floating on the softest cloud.

  "Good," he says. "I just wanted to…"

  "To what?" I have to keep him talking, I must.

  "To know you're OK," he finishes.

  "I'm not OK," I say. "Why won't you talk to me?"

  "We're talking now," he says, and I guess he's right, but he sounds like he's saying goodbye.

  "Can you come here?" I ask, my breath stuck in my throat.

  "No, Gail," he says. "I told you. We can't—"

  "Please, Scott. I won't be alright if you don't, I will never be alright again." I know I sound pathetic and I'd never plead with anyone else like this, never ever, but with Scott I don't have to worry about what's proper. Never did. Because everything I do is right, even when it's wrong.

  He's not saying anything, but I can hear him breathing. He has to come see me, it's the
only way I can save us, I knew it all along.

  "Whatever it is, Scott, it doesn't matter. Really, it doesn't. I'm a big girl, you don't have to shelter me from anything," I say, the firmness in my voice coming from I don't know where. "Just come."

  He sighs and I can hear him drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "It's not a good idea."

  "Just to talk, we can have dinner and talk," I say, still speaking firmly, even though I can feel him slipping away. "Please. Maybe we can at least be friends."

  "Yeah, I'm sure," he whispers.

  "Scott," I say warningly.

  "Gail," he replies in the same tone.

  "Be at my house at six tomorrow," I say. "Or nothing will ever be alright again. For either of us. So no excuses."

  I hang up and turn off my phone. Either he comes or he doesn't, I'm done pleading with him over the phone. But he will come, I know he will.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  All through the next day, my knowledge that Scott will be at my house at six is waning by the minute. By five PM I'm already quite certain I only imagined him calling last night. But I keep my phone off all day and don't check my messages. I'll know soon enough.

  I take my time getting ready, starting with a long shower then fixing my hair so it hangs in loose curls down my back. I try on ten dresses before finally settling on a tight black one, which fits me perfectly now that I've lost so much weight. It hugs all my curves snuggly, and leaves little to the imagination, even though everything from my thighs to my neck is covered. I complete the outfit with a pair of black stockings and the stilettos I wore on that first night I spent with Scott. It's almost six by the time I finish doing my makeup.

  Phillipa is in the living room, watching the news, so I slip out of the house through the back door, draped in my long black coat, with slits on the sides that show of my legs. I'd do me in this outfit, and I'm sure Scott would too. If he comes. Which he has to, or I'll truly lose it.