Hey Idiot... I Love You

Chapter Thirteen [newest]

Author's note: 2.4 words omg. Sorry for any mistakes!

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following morning is made up of held back tears, tasteless gourmet breakfast in my hotel room accompanied by Blake—claiming he had nothing else better to do than to watch me eat—a quick taxi cab to the airport and a dragging flight back home. Alone, of course.

As expected, Mom is in my apartment with Emily when I arrive, clammy face bare of any makeup and tear stains visible on both cheeks. She tells me she has already informed the police about the incident and all we need to do is wait while they do all the work, but waiting is proving to be more painful when you’ve got nothing else to do; nothing else to distract you from wandering thoughts.

When I fade into sleep that night, I dream of mirthful laughter and bright smiles, of sand slipping in between the valleys of my fingers and the taste of salt in the breezy air, of a bruise-colored sky hovering above us and the sun dipping down onto the horizon. And then soft lips fluttering against mine—barely—but I know it’s there.

When I open my eyes, the sand transforms to cold linens and the sky transforms into my bedroom ceiling. Half-awake, I ransack my bedside drawer for a tickler and pen and jot down with crooked lines,

SUNSET AT THE BEACH; KISSES AND LAUGHTER.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, eyes wide and sleep out of my system even if it’s still dark. I had woken up hopeful, waiting for dad to swing the door open and say, “Hey, kiddo!” like he always used to. But really, who am I kidding?

And then I go to work. Do paperwork. File folders and answer telephones and faxes. Reply to overdue flooded emails and check the storage rooms. Keep my mouth shut and only open them when necessary. When I come back home, I eat dinner with mom and Emily and then go to sleep afterwards.

The days melt into a week—or weeks. I don’t really know. My life is on autopilot, and the feeling is eerily familiar. Sleep is just teetering on the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, and often I find myself drowning cups of coffee in the morning in a struggle to stay awake.

For instance, right now.

“You’re growing thinner.”

I purse my lips and nod, eyes lowered on the cup of coffee in my hands. “I know.” But I know he wants to say much more. I’m not just thinner—I have visible dark circles around my eyes and my face is pale. Too pale, in fact, that even if I apply a generous amount of makeup, I still look lifeless.

“Still no sign of your dad?”

My shoulders slumps and I heave a sigh. Blake’s sitting right across me, and it just so happens that we decided to have a break. At the same time and in the same doughnut shop. It’s the first time I’ve talked with him since the day at the airport, and awkward or not, I’m too exhausted to even care.

I form a wry smile, silently hoping it doesn’t look much like a grimace. “No. I’m sure he’s okay. He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Blake shifts in his seat, taking another sip of coffee and averting his eyes before answering. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“What makes you think that?” I ask quietly, stirring my coffee.

His smiles coyly—the smile that makes him look much younger than he really is. “He’s probably just like you. Strong-willed. He wouldn’t give up just easily.”

But I am already close to giving up.

Blake finishes his coffee faster than me and says farewell. Minutes later, as I’m about to leave, a waitress brings me a doughnut. I tell her I didn’t order any, but she only tells me, “Don’t pretend you don’t know who it is from,” and looks at me with a slight glint of envy in her eyes.