Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-One

He grasps both my arms, smiling softly. "You know we are all here for you."

"I know. I know you are, and I appreciate it," I grovel, running a hand through my thick hair. "I just...really don't want to talk about it right now. I will at some point, but not now."

With a nod, he accepts that answer, however vague it might be, but doesn't completely drop the subject.

"Tell me about the sleeping."

He tucks his hand beneath my chin, urging me to look at him.

I nearly tell him. I nearly tell him how impossible it is to close my eyes, a million thoughts swirling around in my brain, knowing the mattress space beside me is empty. Or how I'll wake in a cold sweat and reach out to my side, expecting to feel warm, smooth flesh beneath my hands, hands that naturally pull me in, but always come up short. I nearly tell him that wandering the house, trapped in my own mind, has been the sum of my nights since Giovanni has been gone.

The separation from someone I've made myself depend on emotionally and physically has finally begun to get to me.

And I can't ask him to come. I can't call. I can't tell him anything—anything about what's happened. If he knew, there would be nothing that would keep him away. I'm sure of it.

"Scarlett?"

I shake my head at him, slowly, at a loss. I don't know anything anymore.

I don't know what I'm doing.

...

I pull my coat around my body tighter as I slam the door to the taxi, telling the driver to wait as I rush through the downpour of frigid rain to get to the pay phone, settled right outside of a bank. My eyes are everywhere at once, scanning all sides of the street, paranoid as ever. The sky is dark and moonless, concealed by brown, heavy cloud cover. Half of my body is shielded by the phone station, my back soaking under the weight of the rainfall but I don't care. I stick the coins into the machine, unable to think of the consequences of my actions.

It's nearly midnight.

A couple walking together with an umbrella give me a curious look as they pass by me, probably wondering why I'm in pajamas and standing in the pouring rain. When the line begins to ring, I direct my attention back to the machine with desperation, gripping onto the side of the metal bar.

"Hello?"

The sound of his voice does soothe me, but I hadn't expected to be so taken aback by it.

This man's child is inside of me.

This man has no idea how much more woven our beings have actually become.

This man has no idea of the enormity I'm forced to keep from him.

"Hello?"

I release the breath I've been holding, bringing the receiver to my mouth. "Giovanni."

"Scarlett?" Any of the raspy hoarseness he'd had before is gone, replaced by suspicion and disbelief. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

My fingers press on my mouth, which has begun trembling, as I'm filled with overwhelming longing. Somehow I force out, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm okay."

There are so many things I could have said differently.

I'm pregnant.

I'm physically ill away from you.

Even, I'm really not okay.

And yet, I tell him the opposite, reassuring him with a lie, as I usually do to try and keep him unaware of how terrified I can actually get. I'm drenched through now, the storm only growing in intensity. My tears mix with the water as I try to hold my composure.

My eyes squeeze shut, a tremor appearing in my voice when I speak next. "I-I just needed to talk to you...to hear your voice."

He doesn't answer for what seems like ages. "Where are you? I can barely hear you."

"A pay phone. It's, um, raining."

"You don't sound okay. You're scaring the hell out of me. Where's Norman?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping." I shake my head at myself, frustrated that I'm even putting him through this. "It's late. I shouldn't have called. I shouldn't even be calling—"

"I don't care what time it is. Tell me what's wrong."

I'm panicking and I have no idea why. I'm shuffling in place, my eyes flickering to the taxi driver who is watching me through the window curiously.

"Scarlett, if you don't talk to me, I'm going to show up and force it out of you."

An uncertain noise falls from my lips. "You can't do that."

But deep down, I'm saying, please do.

Deep down, I'm saying, I'll drive all night just to be with you.

The line's dead silent. So silent I think the call has dropped.

"Giovanni?"

"I'll be there by dawn," he finally says, and I hear rustling in the background. My eyes begin to widen with realization.

I wipe the falling tears, straightening. "What are you talking about? You can't—"

"I can. And will. Wait for me at the cabin."

"Giovanni—"

"You need me, right?" he questions, his voice sharp with passion. "Tell me that's why you called and I will come to you, right now."

My grip tightens on the rest and then slips. I'm gaping, conflicted between telling him to stay put, which would be the smart thing to do, and telling him to come to me by any means necessary. We've been so careful up till now—can I honestly tell him to risk it all?

"Tell me, Scarlett."

"I do," I blurt out through thick tears, exhaling vulnerably. I've never liked this feeling—need. "Yes, I do."

His answer alone begins to drown the sorrow. "Then, I'm coming."