Savior Soul

Seven

Shorter than I would have liked, but what can you do?;) Enjoyy!

Seven

When I walked into English, Deacon wasn’t there for the third day running. We’d become close in the last month. I relied on him, perhaps more than I should, and he was always there. I felt connected to him in the most cliché, but most uplifting way possible. He was the best friend I’d ever had. I scanned the room again in search of him. Confused, I went and sat down in my usual seat. The room was large, with uneven walls and high ceilings, forming a sort of pentagon, though one so awkward that it wasn’t really anything. It was a building that sort of attached itself to the school through default, and was miles from anywhere. Despite Kensington being a campus based university, I’d had to drive here. Thea’s friend Patent, whom had never like, my scooted in next to me, her bangles ringing as she perched on the edge of her wooden seat. I never took any liking to her – she was one of those, bitching within ear shot, never agreeing with what you had to say. She was beautiful, caramel skinned with cropped dark hair, and sly as a fox. She grinned at me, although not the happy, it’s-nice-to-see-you kind of grin, the I-know-something-you-don’t kind of grin that scared the crap out of me. I smiled at her, though only out of nervousness,

“Hey,” I said feebly, not facing her as she pulled a pen and notepad out of her book bag.

“You’re close to Deacon, huh?” She asked, though it was more of a statement.

“Yeah, I guess, why?”

“Well I just thought that maybe you’d care a little more that he’s been gone for a week, that’s all.” She purred,

“I do care!” I raised my voice a little, turning some heads, “Sorry. I do care. Why would you say I wouldn’t?”

“No reason.” The girl was clever. Although I was sure that she was probably doing it to get a rise out of me, I couldn’t help but worry. She was messing with my head. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, hoping for a missed call or a text, but there was nothing.

W h e r e   a r e   y o u ? - G

I text him again. I must’ve sent the same message thirty times today. Who was Patent to say I wasn’t worried? It’s all I’d thought about. Someone cleared their throat at the front of the room,

“Miss Galati, I can assure you, you would benefit from putting that away. Now.” Professor Ross’s voice rang out. She was old, silver haired and rude, my least favourite teacher. I muttered an almost inaudible sorry and put my phone face down on the desk. For the first twenty minutes of her lecture, I couldn’t stop looking at it, willing it to ring or buzz or something. I couldn’t concentrate on a word Ross said, I didn’t even open my notepad. My heart fluttered at every sound, a new voice speaking, a cough, the click of a pen. The worry grew inside me until I felt sick to the stomach. I saw the phone move before I heard it buzz, and quickly flipped it over. Deacon was calling. I fumbled loudly as I tried to grab it off the table, standing as I did so and almost falling down the steps on my way out of the room. I heard Ross calling me as I ran through the double doors, but ignored her and answered the call,

“Deacon! What the hell? You’ve ignored all my calls!” I yelled into the receiver. There was silence at the other end. I waited. Then I heard a cough, and then nothing again. I panicked. Too many worst case scenarios bounced around in my head, leaving me momentarily dizzy and confused. I yelled his name a second time into the receiver, but the horrible nothingness remained, taunting me. I imagined the nothingness – a space, nothing but space. Space you could see one minute, size up, and the next have to way of determining where you were. I hung up and spun on my heel, my walk morphing into a run as I made my way to the east parking. I tripped more than once as I ran, my legs growing weak under the abnormal pressure – Gina Galati did not run. Ever. The door stood open at the end of the corridor, blinding me slightly as I neared it. Falling out into the sun light, I was by my car in seconds. I couldn’t get in quickly enough, my irrational worry leaving me fumbling with the locks. I was sliding into the seat before I had opened the door, and yanking my belt over me as I one-headedly pulled onto the highway.  

The drive was filled with an angst and crazy apprehension that I didn’t understand – it was a silent call, not a suicide note, yet I was shaking all over, my hands nervously drumming on the wheel as I incessantly hit the horn, despite the roads being almost empty. When I finally got to Deacon’s, his car was comfortably parked in its space, third along, as always. I pulled into the empty space next to it, shaking with both fear and anger, and clicked open the door. I took a breath before stepping out, and walked calmly across the car park. It was that strange calmness, the: I’m-actually-burning-inside kind of calm that set me on nerve. My pace was slow and rhythmic as I climbed the worn concrete stairs to the apartment. The block was a gothic building, grey and worn, dotted with mould patches and damp. It had a musky smell that reminded me of weed, and alcohol. The smell worsened as I neared Deacon’s door, a mixture of blood and sweat, a thick sort of smell that hung in the air as if it was going to smother you as you walked through it. The door stood wide open.