Welp, I am actually still alive and writing, so I figured that I'd whiz by and post some stuff I've been working on. Slowly. Very, very slowly. The second scene of this is also being posted, if anyone's interested. Any reviews would be mucho appreciated (:
My thumb had been hovering over the call button for three and a half minutes, still showing no signs of pushing down. I cradled the phone in that hand, using the other to massage the stress-lines out of my forehead. It was just a phone call. This wasn't even the hard part.
This wasn't anywhere near the hard part.
I took a deep breath, hand dropping from my forehead to the counter top. I hit the call button.
Just an apology. A request to take him out for ice cream or a coffee so that we could catch up, and so that he'd know I meant it. Then we'd part ways, and probably proceed to never so much as look at one another again. I could work with that. I kind of wanted to slam my face against the nearest hard surface every time I saw him, anyway.
Two rings.
I could do this.
Four.
If they picked up the phone.
Five, and I almost snapped and shoved the phone back onto the hook. Told myself that they weren't home. Told my self that I'd try again later, and then never do it. I started to pull it away and everything, but a click and a rustle from the other end stopped me.
"Hello." Woman's voice, not a boy in his late teens. Exhausted, but I knew his mom, and that was- there wasn't much about that that was out of the ordinary. Her situation wasn't the greatest. She had a husband that, as far as the police were concerned, didn't even exist anymore, and they'd left her alone to manage a traumatized nine-year-old and a seventeen-year-old who had a hard time holding himself together for twenty-four hours. I got that, though. Twenty-four hours was a really, really long time.
I forced a weak, "Hi," past the lump in my throat, eyes wandering to the ceiling. I needed something to look at. "I- it's Parker. Heyton. I was wondering if- is Brazil home?"
There was a pause on the other end that stretched until my palms started sweating and my stomach churned. It dragged on for a little longer, and then, "Parker, you didn't- nobody told you?" Her voice crackled near the end, and an array of worst case scenarios burst through the Everything's Fine Dam.
"Told me what?" I asked. My voice wouldn't budge past a hoarse whisper. I'm sure that it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't known him. But I had, and the only thing I could think of involved pills. Lots of them. A shoelace, maybe. I scrubbed my free hand over my face and squeezed my eyes shut again.
God, no.
"He's in the hospital."
Please, please no.
"He's been there for almost a month. I- I didn't even think to call you."
I hadn't made contact in three years, save for brief sparks of support when David went missing. I wouldn't have thought to call me, either. I swallowed. "What happened?" Hospital. That meant he was alive. I didn't know if alive was even a good thing at this point, but it was still better than the alternative.
"He was jumped," she said, voice scarcely above a whisper. "There was a car involved, but he doesn't- he doesn't remember much of it. At all. They think he- they think he will, but he's got so much pain medication in his system right now-" She broke off into a cold laugh. The sort of laugh that sounded like it was falling apart around the edges- a do-it-or-I'll-cry sort of thing.
Brazil Liu, boy of the gentle eye-smiles and peanut butter sandwiches had been jumped. That didn't even- "Mai, I- God. I'm sorry." I was fumbling and I knew it, groping around for something else to say. "Did they- fuck, did they at least catch whoever did it?"
"Yeah, yeah they found them. It was a quick trial." She chuckled again, but it broke in at least three different places.
I grit my teeth, trying to think past the pressure building behind my eyes. Granted, if I was going to cry about this, now'd be a good time to do it. I'd liked David. I'd liked his son, and his wife, and his daughter. For the love of God, his son'd been something akin to my best friend for all of several months, and I'd just. Totalled that. They didn't even have insurance packages for things like panic-induced friendship destruction. "I'm sorry," I said again. I was. I was so, so sorry.
I leaned my forehead against the cabinets, drumming my fingers against the counter top. "Mai?"
She sounded distracted, almost. All I got from her was an absent, "Hm?"
"I'd called for a reason, actually." A tear slipped. I didn't have the energy to lift a hand and wipe it away. "I was going to apologize to him, you know? Because I never- I never did that. And I- is he okay?"
There was another pause, and the line crackled when she sighed. "He's okay enough for that. Do you want the visiting hours? I have to get back there. I'm only home to throw my clothes in the wash."
I felt an extra pang of guilt. I was holding her up. Her son was in the hospital. She was probably so beyond done. She'd already been stretching it pretty close a couple years ago. "Yes please." Guilt pangs, sure, but they'd be a lot worse if I said no, it was fine, I didn't need the hours.
Another sigh, and then, "Alright."
I scribbled the four-to-seven hours onto the palm of my hand, said the most heartfelt goodbye I could muster, and hung up.
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