Cold Coffee and Stale Cigarettes *on hold*

Chapter 9

                The fact it was 2:30 in the fucking morning and my phone was ringing was kind of pissing me off. I mean, really, who does that? For a moment, I lay on my stomach, watching the screen cast shadows on my ceiling, before I sighed loudly and reached for the phone.

                “Hello?” My eyelids fluttered close for a second. I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t sleep. I was getting bad again and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it just had to do with the time of year. Maybe it was just the weather. I didn’t know. It was scaring me.

                “Hey.”

                “Dalton?”

                “Can you…?” The voice on the other end of the line faded off. “Can you come outside?”

                “Do you know what time it is?”

                “Yea.” There was something off with his voice. It was flat. Empty. Emotionless.

                “Ok. Just checking.” Slipping from the warm covers of my bed, I pulled on my hoodie and the pair of skinnies I had worn the day before, carefully maneuvering into my shoes even though my room was almost too dark to see.

                “I didn’t think you would answer.” Dalton said, cutting through the static of the receiver.

                “Then why’d you call?”

                “I don’t know.” Snorting, I picked up my keys from the shelf next to my door, quietly exiting my room. Dalton was sitting outside on the porch, head buried in his face. The smell of alcohol lingered in the air and his hair was ruffled. He turned to me, the skin on one side of his face darker than the other. As he stood he tilted away so the bruised portion of his face was hidden from view. A slight breeze murmured through the trees. What happened?

                “Walk with me, please.” A hoarse edge teetered on his voice and I obliged with no further questions. I knew what this was. He had witnessed my episode earlier and now this was a sort of favor in return. He’d keep my secret and I would keep his. Simple enough.

                “Were you sleeping?” He questioned, hands in his pockets, even though there really seemed to be no guilt in his posture.

                “No.” I muttered, hugging my arms closer to me. Did it have to be so damn cold at night?

                “Why?”

                “I dunno. Happens.” It happens a lot. My dad used to worry about it. He doesn’t anymore. He doesn’t care now. Now he has Tara and Tyler and he can pretend like I don’t exist.

                “Because of earlier?”

                “Stop prying.”

                “I’m not. I’m trying to understand.”

                “I don’t want you to.”

                “I want to know why you were having a panic attack because Gabe offered you a blunt.”

                “I just don’t like smoking, ok?” The cords in my chest tightened, coiling into a tight ball.

                “You’ve never flipped over smokes.”

                “It’s different.” Hugging myself tighter, I kept my gaze locked onto the damp cement. “That’s something I got over a long time ago. No choice.” Why am I telling you this?