Moonlit Craters

(19) The Call of the Night Sky

Xanny, Billie Eilish
 March 31st, 2020
*****

That evening, the warm gardenia scented bathwater soothed her aching muscles. Its warmth seeped into her skin, a valiant attempt to chase away the chill that always followed Stella. While she felt warm, the pit inside her remained empty. With her headphones in, the familiar lyrics of Eminem's Lose Yourself blasted on repeat.

An island in the giant soaking tub, her mind refused to wander. Over top the song, Howie and Adam's conversation repeated.

What could she do to show him that she'd changed? Really, truly changed?

Coming home, days before he was comfortable with it, probably wasn't it.

If anything, it was stupid and impulsive!

It was four when she got in the tub. Likely, he'd finished work and gone home. And was on his way to pick her up.

Fuck.

I've got to formulate a plot, or end up in jail or shot. Success is my only mother-fuckin' option.

Her lips curled at the familiar lyrics. Em always knew what he was rapping about; she'd always be a fan for that reason.

The problem was, how could she succeed when she was her own worst enemy? Yes, she'd excelled at school; valedictorian had been her victory at every school she graduated from. She'd been in the ninety-fifth percentile when she took her MCAT's. She'd had to go to college for math and science in high school. She'd fought tooth and nail to become chief resident and then chief fellow. She planned to do the same to become director of a PICU. Then go higher, if she so decided she wanted to.

By all accounts, she was a successful, young woman. Financially stable, and thanks to more scholarships and grants than she knew what to do with, no large debts to repay. If she could do this, then surely she could show Howie what the rest of the world saw?

Except, Howie knew the history. She looked good on paper. Until you looked at her psychiatric history. Then she looked like some horrible, barely functioning monster. Stella was past those years – the past five were proof enough of that.

How to get Howie past them, too?

You can do anything you set your mind to, man.

A twisted grin spread at those words. Em was right, like always. She'd never failed at anything before; this time wouldn't be any different. She just needed time.

Stella closed her eyes, the sparkling white of her bathroom slipped into darkness.

Before her mind could drift, the music paused. It was replaced by the familiar ringtone of FaceTime. Howie's tone to be precise.

That was a pleasant surprise! Maybe Adam talked him down?

"Hey," she answered before leaning her head back against the wall. The lavender candle flickered; the shadow changed shape before settling back. "How was work?"

"Work was fine." His voice came through her phone, tense, as if he'd walked into something unpleasant. "I was looking forward to spending more time with you tonight."

"And I once wanted someone to love me." Fuck! If she could drown herself, she would. Death by inhaling gardenia – that would be a headline, alright.

They said drowning was peaceful.

Maybe she could ask Cole Pennhurst; he made a good try for that.

Cracking an eye open, her stomach fell out at the look on his face. "Fuck. Sorry. I know you love me plenty."

"Stell –"