And it fucking sucks.
I’m hit with his scent as soon as I enter the apartment. I go directly to my bedroom and aim for my pillow.
Oh my god.
I sink to the bed.
It’s one of his shirts—dark navy blue V-neck with a picture of an owl. Just an owl. I laugh to myself as I recall the first time I saw him wearing it. I asked him why he bought it and he said it was because he’s always been a night owl, and it was fitting for him at the time he bought it. It was ironic because I had just finished a book called, Night Owl. It was a hot and dirty read, making me think of us—especially every time I go back to re-read it—our attraction being unstoppable and desperate.
I lift the shirt to my nose, inhaling his fresh scent. God, it smells amazing. Just like him.
I told him once it’s my favorite shirt. He confessed it’s his favorite because the owl reminds him of me—independent and mysterious—just like its symbolic meaning.
I don’t care how crazy it makes me look, but I rip my shirt off and immediately put his on. It’s about two sizes too big for me, but I don’t care. I need to feel him…to smell him…to have anything of his as close as possible.
I curl up in a ball on my bed and lay there. My heart feels completely empty and broken. No matter how soon I’ll see him, it’s not soon enough. Hell, it could be months before I’m able to move over there. Even one day is too long for me right now. I can’t understand how I became like this…needy for him, but it’s like his heart has completely molded around mine. I can still be that independent, strong-willed woman who takes no prisoners, but my aching heart doesn’t agree.
I wake up some time past midnight. I realize I’m still on top of my bed, shivering because I left the window open. It’s now raining, blowing cold air into the apartment.
I get up and close it and grab a sweatshirt on my way out to the living room. I’m starving and now wide awake. I grab my phone and hope I haven’t missed his call.
Nope. Nothing.
I check my notes to see when he’s supposed to arrive in Ireland. An hour ago? Shit. I check my phone for missed messages, emails, or voicemails. Nothing. Perhaps he doesn’t have service. Perhaps he forgot. Or he fell asleep. Or his battery died.
My mind is spinning with all the possible reasons, so I decide to order food to keep my mind off of everything.
After ordering a pizza, I collapse on the couch with the remote. I need to keep my mind busy.
I think about texting Velaney, but I doubt she’ll be awake. Lately, I’ll text her at nine, and she doesn’t respond until morning because she already fell asleep. She calls it her “pregnancy syndrome” as to why she sleeps so much.
I flip through the channels, nothing really entertaining or catching my eye this late at night. I stop on some news channel as the doorbell rings.
“That’s $14.50.”
I hand the delivery guy a twenty and tell him to keep it. If my heart is empty, at least my stomach can be filled.
Pathetic, I know. But right now, I just don’t care.
I sit back on the couch and grab my Kindle from the coffee table. I flip through the hundreds of books I have stored on there. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to read anything new tonight, so I go back to Night Owl. It just seems right.
I lean back and prop my feet on the table with the pizza box sitting next to me. I indulge in a late night pizza with my Kindle. Yes…this will make me feel better— temporarily at least.
My heart is racing and my thighs are clenching tight as I continue reading. This book is so damn hot, I really should’ve thought this through. Note to self: Do not read erotica while boyfriend is not around.
Bad idea. Too late. I’m too engrossed in the way Matt is stalking Hannah outside her house after midnight. Although I know what’s coming and the fact that they fuck in his car shortly after, it doesn’t dim the excitement of reading it again.
I sincerely consider grabbing Lily and making it a night—no use in wasting my desperate need for sex. My eyes scan over my Kindle just as I catch the Breaking News headline that’s plastered all over the TV screen.
I drop my Kindle immediately and grab the remote, turning the volume up.
“This just in...Ireland plane crashes into the Atlantic Ocean, heading to London. Rescue crews are searching for it now. But the airline has stated it has little hope of any survivors…”
I can’t breathe. I physically can’t breathe. I stand up and dig for a brown bag in the kitchen. I bring it to my mouth and begin heaving, desperate for oxygen.
I frantically search for my notes on his plane information. “Fuck. Shit. Where the hell is it?”
I empty the contents of my purse on the kitchen table, letting everything sprawl out. “Here!” I scream, grabbing it and running back to the TV.
He should be on his flight to London already. His layover was only a half hour, barely giving him time to change flights.
I check his flight number and look back at the TV.
A match.
I swallow and close my eyes.
No.
I look again, thinking it’s not right. That can’t be right. Airbus A322—Dublin to London.
I grab my phone and call him. Nothing. Straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
I stand up and pace the living room. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.
“133 passengers…” I hear the news anchor report, breaking my frantic pacing. “The pilot called in an issue just before the plane was reported missing. He said there was an issue with the engine. Officials are currently investigating what went wrong. Family members of the passengers will be notified as soon as possible.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOO! No! No! No!” I fall to my knees as the realization finally hits me. I burst into hysterics as my knees give out and soon I’m lying helplessly on the floor.
My mind is spinning. My stomach is in knots as the tears continue. I check his itinerary several times over, even though all the facts are right in front of me.
“God, no!”
I stand up and throw the first thing I see. A statue. I don’t even know why the fuck I have the damn thing. I watch as it crashes into a million pieces against the wall opposite me. It’s not enough. I go searching for the next thing I can throw.
It’s never enough. No matter how much I break and throw, it doesn’t change anything.
I don’t know how much time passes before I find myself on the sofa again. My eyes are bloodshot and my body is cold and shaky. I continue watching the news, hoping the anchor says false alarm or wrong plane. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t.
I call Velaney, knowing she won’t answer but needing to hear her voice. I call Drew’s number again. I’ve called it thirty-seven times now. Voicemail.
My stomach is queasy from the outbursts of tears. I run to the bathroom and make it just in time to release the pizza I just ate. And lunch. And probably breakfast.
I lay on the cold bathroom floor. Sobbing. Uncontrollable sobbing. This is a pain I can’t even fathom, but it’s so fucking real. It’s hurts so deep. An intensity of anger and rage overcomes me. I’ve never felt this way in my life.
Between the hurling and crying, I finally pass out. Or black out. The floor is cold and probably filled with a thousand different germs, but I don’t care. I don’t want to move. Hell, I don’t even want to live right now.
23
My eyes feel glued shut, and I can’t open them. Then again, do I really want to? No. I just want to die.
It feels like I’m floating. I’m no longer on the bathroom floor that was cold and dead, like I feel. I’m airlifted off the floor and hear a muffled voice, but I can’t understand what’s being said. I smell Drew’s scent, but then again, it’s probably because I’m still wearing his shirt. I took my sweatshirt off sometime during my vomit induced coma. I nuzzle my face deeper into his shirt, inhaling the scent before I forget what he smells like.
I must be dreaming. I hear Drew’s voice,
or so it sounds like him. His voice is embedded into my memory, so now everything is going to sound and smell like him. Everything will remind me of him because for over seven months, he’s been a part of my life.
“Shh…it’s okay.” I hear the muffled, deep voice again. I lie on my bed and feel him tuck me in. A cold washcloth wipes over my mouth and face, cleaning off the sickness that overtook me hours earlier.
Whoever this person is, or whatever dream I’m having, doesn’t stay long…
Because soon I’m right back in the darkness.
* * *
I wake up in my bed and don’t remember how I got here. Flashes of last night hit me, and soon I know why I feel the way I do. I plead to myself that everything was just a nightmare, but I look down and see Drew’s shirt and know it wasn’t. It really happened. The plane crashed.
I look around and vaguely remember being carried into the bedroom. By who, I’m not sure yet. But I assume it was Collins, my neighbor across the hall. He moved in shortly after I met Drew and we’ve only talked a handful of times. However, I told him where my spare key is hidden in case of an emergency.
I’m sure he heard all the shit being thrown around last night along with my vomiting encore. That has to be the only explanation.
I stand up, needing to take a shower. I reek and feel awful. I don’t want to wash Drew’s shirt, but I know I have to.
I grab some fresh clothes and underwear before making my way down the hall and stop, frozen in my tracks as I listen to the sound of my shower.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself. Collins is sure making himself at home…
I decide to use the other bathroom instead, desperately needing a shower and unwilling to wait. I allow myself to sob in the shower, needing another emotional release. I just don’t know what to do. How do I move on from this? I don’t even have his mother’s phone number or any information on her. I’m not even able to contact her.
I make a mental list of things to do today. I need to call Velaney right away. I need to call the airline and see if I can get any answers from them. It’s doubtful, though. I need to clean all the tiny pieces that fell on the floor last night before I cut a toe off. I need to keep myself busy. Anything to keep myself from crying on the floor again.
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I can’t even remember if I conditioned my hair. I think I did. But now I’m overthinking it and not sure. So I do it again, this time making sure to focus on the task at hand.
I finish my shower and get myself together. If Collins is still here, I don’t want to have a meltdown in front of him. Although I consider myself a strong person, this is probably my biggest moment of weakness, and I’m not willing to let Collins be the one to comfort me right now. I’ll thank him for his help and kindly, but quickly, push him out and back into his own apartment.
I dry my body off and get dressed fast. I towel dry my hair and comb through it with my fingers. I love having long hair, but it’s thick and takes forever to style.
I walk out of the bathroom and aim for the hall closet where the broom and vacuum are stored. I prepare to clean up my mess when I realize it’s now gone. Collins must’ve cleaned while I was in the shower.
Well, I guess I can check that off my list. Now to go find him and tell him he needs to leave. Like now.
“Hello?” I call out, wondering if he’s even still here. Perhaps he already went back to his apartment, saving me from having to tell him.
I don’t hear anything and shrug it off. I’ll thank him for his help later, but right now, I need something to eat and drink before I pass out.
I whip open the fridge door and bend over, looking at all the options—or lack thereof. I’m not very good at the shopping and cooking thing. I’m normally satisfied with some fruit, bread, and water. I spot a yogurt in the way back and lean in to grab it. This will have to do for now.
I feel a pair of hands wrap around my waist just as I’m grabbing for the yogurt. He pulls me into him as I’m bent over, making for a very awkward position.
“Collins, get off me,” I snap. “I don’t need your filthy hands on me right now.”
Collins has never tried anything before, but I’m sure he’s heard of my reputation—rather, old reputation—and hell, he saw Drew and I in the hall that one time. I haven’t been like that in months, so whatever he’s heard or thinks is not who I am anymore.
His hands snap back and I back up, closing the fridge. I open up a drawer, grab a spoon, and rip open the yogurt while waiting patiently for Collins to get the hint.
“Who’s Collins?” I finally hear in an edgy tone. I freeze in place as I realize the guy in my apartment is not my neighbor, Collins.
I spin around, finally seeing him.
My jaw drops as the yogurt in my hand falls and spills to the floor.
I’m so shocked that I can’t make words come out. The thoughts in my head are spinning and yet, I can’t make a damn coherent word form.
“Doll? Are you alright?”
It’s him. It’s really him.
“There was glass shattered all over your apartment. What happened? Are you hurt?” he asks sincerely.
I practically jump on him, wrapping my arms around his neck to validate that it’s really him. He’s really here.
I begin crying as his arms wrap around my waist and hold me in close. I inhale his scent, knowing that he’s definitely here.
“Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
I push back and scowl at him. “What are you DOING here?” I scream louder than I mean to. “Do you have ANY idea what I’ve been through in the last twelve hours?”
“Carissa, listen—”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!” I shout, pushing against his chest. I’m heaving and crying, so angry for what he’s put me through. “Your plane crashed! How are you here right now?”
“Doll, please…let me talk.”
I swallow and nod, giving him the okay to continue.
“After the plane took off, all I could think about was you. I was dreading going home and not having you there with me. I should’ve told my mum I was staying, and we could’ve flown home together, because the last place I wanted to be was without you. So as soon as we landed in Dublin, I caught the next plane out to Boston—”
“AND YOU DIDN’T CALL ME?” I scream again, interrupting his story.
“I didn’t have time!” His shouts echo in the room, catching me off guard. I then realize I’m acting like a lunatic and need to stop shouting at him. “I literally went to the ticket booth and exchanged my ticket when the flight was boarding. I barely made it as it was. I tried texting you but I had no service and only 5% battery life left. I figured you’d be sleeping, so I called as soon as I landed back in Boston and your phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t even hear about the crash until I walked through the airport and noticed all the news channels on the TV were talking about it.” He pauses briefly, brushing both hands through his hair. “I rushed back here in case you had heard the news, but when I found you, I thought you had the flu or something, so I didn’t wake you. Had I known you’d heard, I would’ve woken you up and told you everything like I am right now. I figured if you had the flu, you hadn’t been watching the TV. It wasn’t until this morning that I noticed shards of glass and pieces of whatever else sprawled on the floor,” he says softly. “You have no idea what thoughts crossed my mind when I heard.”
“Oh…I have a few ideas,” I snap back. “Do you know…how broken I was…how devastated…how empty I felt?”
“Doll, you’re not understanding what I’m trying to say.” He grabs me, cupping my face. “I’ve had this flight booked for months. Since before I met you. Had I not been so fucking in love with you…bloody hell…I would’ve been on that plane. I would’ve had no reason to come back.” He rubs his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the tears that seem to be endless. “You saved me. What you gave me, the way you love me, the chance you held out for me…saved me.”
> I haven’t even had time to think about that. It’s eerie how true his statement is if in fact he would’ve had no other reason to stay. The thoughts surround me, making me break down once again in front of him.
“Doll? Don’t cry. Because this is the fucking happiest day of my life. The thought of being away from you for more than a day made my gut wrench. I literally couldn’t sit still in the seat because I was kicking myself for even leaving.”
“What about your mom?” I ask concerned.
“My mum will understand. She knows I love you. She’ll understand that the heart wants what the hearts wants.” He grins foolishly.
I bust out in a laugh for the first time since this whole misunderstanding. “Did you just quote Woody Allen?”
He shrugs with a smile. “Seriously…you are my savior.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. It felt like my heart was torn out of my chest, beaten, burned, and put into a deli shredder.”
He cringes. “You’re always so graphic.”
“It’s the truth,” I reply seriously. “I was out of my mind. I checked your itinerary like twenty times, I called you over and over, I kept praying that there was some mistake, some error on the news channel. But then you never called. And it was like…the most painful ache I’ve ever experienced. I started heaving and throwing up uncontrollably because I was so sick and distraught over it. I never want to relive those hours.” I swallow hard, just thinking about it is making me feel sick again.
“Doll, I am so sorry. So so sorry. I would’ve called had I been able to. I should’ve asked a stranger to borrow their phone or something. I don’t know what I was thinking. I had this whole image in my head that I’d knock on your door, you’d be standing there crying—and wearing my shirt of course.” He grins slyly. “And I’d tell you something cheesy, but romantic, about how I couldn’t spend another night away from you, and you’d jump in my arms and we’d make love all night.” He leans in and kisses my lips gently. “I never imagined you’d be in this condition.”
I choke out a sob and a laugh at the same time. “You’re really corny, but I love it.”
FLAME (Spark Series) Page 20