Don't Judge Me (Being Edited)

42_ What Happened Next

I could write a hundred-and-one stories about Callum and I. It would be nice too. Would you like that? I would.

But this isn't really about what you want. Or what I want to be honest. This is about the truth. This is about getting it all on paper. It’s helping. I think. I hope.

So let’s go back to that night.

In the darkness. In that midnight blue dress. Patterned with bruises and pain. With death in my hands- just add to the drama.

Let’s go back, come on now. Take my hand.

 .....

And there I am: 14 years old, holding the kitchen phone in my hand, still listening to the dial tone. Good times, huh?

I don’t know how long I stood there. I’d stopped inanely counting. I wondered if my feet hurt or my hand was cramping around the phone. But I couldn’t figure that out so I didn’t and now I can’t tell you if I was standing there for a long time or not. Sorry.

I eventually hung up the phone, either way. And when I did I held onto it a little longer. You’re meant to do something I told myself. That’s what. In the films and books and radio podcasts- but who listens to radio podcasts?- the people always have a plan. They always had a next step. I had nothing. I’d had my father and he was dead.

But was he? I didn’t know. I hadn't checked. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to call an ambulance. I didn’t him to be alive. But that’s beside the point I guess. You just want to know what happened next. Well here’s what happened. The phone rang.

I jumped, but I did not scream. I was entirely petrified of making a noise.

I picked it up but only because I was also scared of the noise the phone made.

“Antonia.” Said the voice over the phone.

I didn’t say anything.

The voice was tired and croaky. “Antonia, I know it’s you. I have your number saved in my phone.” And when I still said nothing he continued, “I’ve been trying to call you back but your phone’s been engaged. Is everything alright?”

And he waited for my reply. And because he was Callum (he was still Callum, always Callum even though he’d broken me so many times since I began this story) I spoke for him. I thought to myself, when the police come for me and ask who was the first person I spoke to after the murder I’d say Callum.

“No.” I said. My voice was hoarse, my throat hurt like a bitch.

“You don’t sound so good. Was it the date?”

I blinked and thought and tried to remember what it was Callum was talking about. When I did remember I hated my father even more. “No, the date was perfect.”

“Great, I’m glad.”

“Are you?”

“You should be happy, Antonia.”

“So should you.”

Callum made a huffing noise, “Everyone should be happy. Doesn’t mean they are...” He sighed, “Anyway, what’s up?”

I stayed silent. There was no way I could tell him. I knew that. So instead I asked, “Callum, what do you think makes a person bad?”

It was his turn to be mute, but his silence wasn’t as long as mine, “I guess if they hurt people.”

“You guess?”

He made a noncommittal sound, “I don’t know. I’m only 14.”

“You’re the smartest 14 year old I know.” I told him.