What does it mean when none of them care now? When they could so easily go back to my existence being nothing?
I settle in between my friends and slowly fall asleep in the middle of a sitcom marathon with my head in Tristan’s lap. Luci’s hand is a gentle pressure on my ankle. Sleep claims me, but nothing stops my heart from breaking further at yet another night out of love.
Holden
I sigh heavily, pushing the car door shut. It’s been a long eight days, and I am unbelievably glad to be home again. I scrub a hand over my face as I open the trunk of my car to grab my bag from inside. A yawn forces itself out of me, my jaw letting out a cracking sound, and I shake my head to clear it of the fog that’s settled over my thoughts.
The past week has been, simply put, my own personal Hell. Every morning, in that split second between dreaming and awake, I’d rolled over in bed and reached for Dealla. I only found no one. My hand kept reaching on, but it never met the familiar warmth of her body. I couldn’t eat through the violent churning of my stomach at the realization that I’m still alone. Something deep inside of me had reminded me over and over that I shouldn’t have left like I did.
I should have waited for Dealla to come back. We should have talked about whatever was bothering her, whatever made her lash out the way she had. Instead, I’d watched her leave in my car with Ashton, then went upstairs and finished packing. Not coming back after the hours spent at The Underworld was the biggest mistake I could have made—that I did make. I wish I had gone back home, even if it meant all we did was fight until the sun rose.
My skin crawls as I step over the threshold. The house is silent, not quite unexpected given the time and Dealla’s work schedule. I close the door behind me and slip out of my shoes. Dropping my bag to the floor, I take a step and pause. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, a shiver races down my spine, and the eerie quiet—so unlike the quiet I’m accustomed to—presses down on me. A klaxon in the back of my mind pulsates, glows red, screams.
Walking through the house gives me no clues. Nothing is out of place: The remotes are on the tray, and the throw blanket is folded over the back of the couch. The dishes are put away in the kitchen, and not a speck of crumbs remains on the countertops. Everything is neat, tidy, and where it should be. I frown and make my way up the stairs.
Entering the bedroom, I spin slowly to examine my surroundings. The bed has been made with tight corners and a pile of pillows leaning against the headboard. Not one piece of clothing sits in the bottom of the hamper. This isn’t surprising; Dealla enjoys doing the laundry, says folding the clothes and putting them away is relaxing. I can’t see anything that would cause such a sense of impending doom.
Then I do.
The empty hangers on the closet rod. The shelf devoid of her suitcase. My sweater—the one she claimed as hers before she even moved in—gone. My hand trembles, reaching for the switch, and I blink rapidly in the sudden spark of light from the overhead bulb. My eyes haven’t deceived me even with the dimness of shadows.
I stumble across the hall and collapse against the doorframe. Ashton’s nightlight is unplugged, sitting innocuously on his dresser as if it isn’t an omen. The outlet is uncovered. Dealla must have known no tiny fingers would be at risk of trying to jam themselves into the socket. His toys have been put away, and the drawers are nearly empty. The pillow is missing from the bed. His lion is nowhere to be found.
I stumble from the room and down the stairs. My stomach threatens to expel whatever is in it—water and bile—as I scroll through my contacts. Samantha and Phil haven’t heard from Dealla, and concern floods their voices when they admit she canceled the playdate a few days ago.
“What’s going on?” Samantha asks; her voice is soft, pitying. Worried.
I swallow thickly and shove my fingers through my hair. “I—I don’t know. She didn’t say anything to you?”
“She just said she wasn’t feeling well and she’d let me know when she was over the bug she had. Holden?”
“I think I fucked up,” I whisper, the words clawing their way from my throat with all the grace of shattered glass.
My friends don’t have anything to say to that, but I have no need for a reply. I hang up without bothering to say goodbye, scan the list of names in my phone. My thumb taps on one halfway through the list.
“I see you’ve noticed she’s gone.”
“She’s there?” I croak out, too afraid to hope.
Luci’s heavy sigh crackles down the line, and I’m sure I’m not imagining the disappointment in her voice when she confirms Dealla fled to Texas, Ashton in tow. I drop clumsily into a chair at the table, fingers clenching into a fist on my knee. Clearing my throat does nothing to rid me of the lump that’s lodged itself there.
“Did she say anything?” I ask.
“I… I can’t tell you that, Holden. I’m sorry. God, I wish I could, but DeeDee made me and Tristan swear we’d stay out of it.”
My voice crackles as I plead, “What am I going to do?”
“The only thing I can say with certainty is that she’s not ready for the end. Not really. The question is: Are you?”
Her words are a challenge. They say I have two choices. I can either let my little family, the one I’ve found in Dealla and Ashton, slip through my fingers. Or I can fight for them.
I tell Luci I’ll call her back, ending the call without another word, then run upstairs. I shove a couple pairs of jeans and a handful of socks into a duffel bag I find at the bottom of the closet, then I yank three shirts from their hangers. I don’t care what I grab—they could be covered in rainbow flowers and purple polka-dots for all I care. I don’t care. All I can focus on is what I can possibly say to Dealla when I’m face-to-face with her again.
This isn’t what I wanted. I should have tried harder that night.
She should have, too, my brain whispers, and I falter in my movements. The last thing I want to do is split the blame, but I know the voice is right. Traitorous but correct. She should have talked to me instead of walking out.
Dealla should have called at any point and yelled. Screamed.Anything.
