TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD!
[Y/N] -> Your Name.
Word count : 5983.
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There was a soft hum. It sounded like a car engine, a soft mumble that could be heard from underneath you. Your arm throbbed in pain and so did your head as you let out a soft groan. The seat underneath you felt soft, yet there was an occasional itch on your face which you could only assume came from an article of clothing beneath you? A cloth maybe?
That was beside the point, you were not in your motel room anymore and that was more than apparent. You felt sick, you smelt and could taste the remains of vomit in your mouth. Your eyes finally fluttered open, it was dark in the car, so dark even that a part of you almost thought that you were blindfolded. You moved your arm, letting out a hiss. Your wrists were tied, your ankles too? Before you could glance up at the driver, a glint just below you caught your eye. It was a blade, that same axe that had hatched your arm away. You blinked desperately, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness that swallowed you up whole.
You hadn't realised but your body was trembling. Was it fear? The lack of sleep that was beginning to catch up to you? Maybe you had finally lost it, a nightmare perhaps? You'd passed out on the couch and when you awoke from this fucking nightmare, the first thing you'll do is speed dial your therapist and mom. God, Mom. You wanted her so badly right now. Your gaze slowly flickered to the person in the front seat, he was focused on the road, his index finger tapping against the wheel. You say he. You had no fucking idea. Was it the same guy from the motel room who hacked at your arm? Fuck, you hoped you weren't going to lose your arm. You didn't want to die. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, you were not going to die and you were adamant on that. You had to at least give some kind of justice to Anne right? Like, maybe, if you miraculously survived, this would be a big, 'hey, Anne! We did it!' Did Anne experience this too? Your heart ached.
With a soft struggle, you clenched your teeth together to hold back each whimper and groan of pain as you let your ass brush up against the back seat. Your pockets were empty. No phone or wallet on you. Well, the other plan caused you to gaze up at the handle of the door to your nearest left. Almost thankfully enough, your hands were tied up close to your chest. With some wiggling here and there, you could reach for the handle of the door and just try to slip out at that next traffic light. Then again, that was the next worry that plagued you. There hadn't been any traffic lights for awhile, where the fuck were you? You could feel the familiar pit of anxiety brewing in your stomach, you wanted to heave again but pushed the saliva to the back of your throat and pursed your lips.
Let's be real, if you survived this shit and wrote a novel, it'd be the next best seller and you'd never have to worry about paying your bills on time again. Right now though, your main priority was just surviving this fucking mess. Sucking in a calm and steady breath, you began to wiggle up the seats. You used your legs and hips to help thrust you up inch by inch. It would've been quicker if you had used your chest but causing more pain onto that huge fucking wound would make you yell out bloody murder. You were almost certain that your bone was showing, peaking out amongst the blood and muscle of your arm. Your mind went hazy as the urge to heave again swelled up in your throat. With determination to survive coursing through your bloodstream, you continued to shuffle up further the seat until you deemed yourself close enough to the handle.
This was the part that would fucking hurt, outstretching your arm to reach for the handle. It would be worth it, a small surge of pain in exchange to live the rest of your life. Fuck, grow old, do dumb shit like getting nailed between aisles of a library for the thrill of it. Fuck the best seller book, imagine being that kick-ass mom that survived this bullshit. You could feel the smugness stretching across your face. With a steady breath, you sent a cautious gaze over to the driver. He was focused on the road, he looked as if he was lost in his thoughts. There was a hood draped over his head, so you could barely make out any facial features or what colour his hair was. This would be crucial when you finally called this bastard in to the cops.
Slowly, you outstretched your arm and let your hand reach its way to the handle of the door. The pain stung, causing you to quickly bite down on your tongue. There was a taste of blood that begin to taint your tastebuds, but the sweet smell of freedom was enough to continue to push further. You stretched, stretched, your fingers reaching out and barely grazing the handle. It was like the handle glinted in the moonlight, mocking you for your sheer desperation to live.
That was right, you wanted to live. The glare of the moonlight took you back to the night you tried to take your life and now you thought about it, how fucking stupid was that shit. You were here, just about and you were not giving to give in to death so easily EVER again.
Your fingertips hooked around the handle and your heart burst in excitement. You gasped, shooting your gaze up quickly as you pulled back with what strength you could muster up. CLICK.
You went to push the door open but nothing happened and you froze, feeling as if everything around you had stopped. It was locked, the door wasn't budging and now you felt like you were being mocked. No. No, life, success, a meaning to life was RIGHT there. Your breath hitched as your eyelid twitched, your hand dropping down helplessly. There was a lump forming in your throat, vomit? No, you were crying. It started with a single tear rolling down your cheek, down your nose and dripping onto the fabrics of your shirt and then there was a soft whimper that escaped from your throat involuntarily. You could taste it, freedom, you could've, should've, you had a fucking right and now this guy was going to kill you like you were nothing but a sack of fucking meat. All your worries vanished. Who gives a fuck what your nose looked like, how much you weighed, your teeth or even the blemishes upon your cheeks. You were going to die. You were uncontrollably sobbing now, unable to stifle any noise that escaped from you. It was pointless, this was all for nothing.
"Fuck....! Fuck!! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" you were screaming, your throat so hoarse that occasionally it would break from the outpour of tears.
The drivers posture changed, he sat up a little and then suddenly leant over the steering wheel. His body contorted for a moment, jumping up and down until it hit you that he was laughing. He was practically slapping his knee, holding his stomach and gasping for air as he tried to control his laughter. Your cries and sobs ceased to be but your bottom lip trembled, the sheer embarrassment of this guy laughing in your face made you wish that maybe your death would come quicker than you had previously hoped. He leant back, caught his breath and suddenly started laughing again to begin round two. This time, he was punching the steering wheel and occasionally the car would blare out a small honk here and there.
"You are f-f—" he laughed more. "Fucking funny!" he exclaimed, happily before now leaning back in his seat again. It seemed he had calmed from his laughing fit. You glanced at his figure before at the rear view mirror. His eyes were on you, wide and hungry. You could just about make out the brown. "You h-have fuckin' sp— spirit- feistyy." That word rolled on his tongue and it caused you to shiver in disgust. This was hilarious to him. "I-I-I-I- FUCK!" he punched the wheel, leaning back, sucked in a breath, twitched his neck and returned the gaze in the rear view mirror. "I like t-the—them when they f-fi-fight back. Sooooo f-f-fun!" This guy was fucking crazy and unpredictable. Your gut was yelling at you to move, to fight back, to literally do anything but you remained still, like a part of you wanted to hear what he was to say to you.
God, the way he fucking talked. It was jarring. It reminded you so much of that creepy fucking neighbour. What was his name? Tony? Toby? That's it, Toby. Yeah, he was weird, but he would've never acted like this? Right? You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him with hatred. He was smirking, it was evident with the crinkle around his eyes. He was enjoying himself more than you wanted to even admit, to consider. You pursed your lips, your eyes stung and you could feel a couple of stray tears trickle down your cheeks.
His eyes wandered, you couldn't tell whether he was looking at your arm or your body but it sent a shiver of disgust that made your shoulders shudder.
"R—R-Real fighter, t-that arm, h-h-hurt?" You narrowed your eyes, the stuttering felt so familiar, almost as if you were talking to Toby. You finally let your gaze wonder to your arm or what you could see of it. The pain had ceased, it was numb and it seemed that it had finally stopped bleeding. You'd lost too much blood though, that was for sure. Pursing your lips, you were silent for a moment, you didn't want to talk.
"Speak."
"Yes—" you mumbled, answering his question from before. His face were stern for a moment before he was smiling again.
"Y-Your own f-fault.." he shrugged and sighed. You took that time to sit up a little and peek up and over, gazing out the window. You weren't moving, had you been moving at all? You were at a stand still, somewhere remote which would explain why it was so dark within the car. "I'll f-f-fix you u-up, okaay?" He spoke in a tone that made your face contort into disgust, like he was just constantly mocking you or having fun.
"Where are you taking me?" you croaked out and now he was taking in more excitement to know that you were finally engaging a little more, it seemed apparent that it was boring when he did all the talking.
"J-J-Just somewhere.. m-me.. you, a-alone, t—t-together. T-Then we c-can really play," he moved his hand which caused you to flinch in fear. His hand slid down from the wheel and moved to the key in the ignition. He turned it and the car rippled to life.
You had no idea what he meant by 'play' but the idea alone didn't sound great, you pursed your lips. If your wrists weren't tied and your arm weren't on the verge of falling off, you'd get the damned rope and strangle him from behind.
The car began to move, causing you to fall back a little against the chair. It was scary how casual he seemed when he drove a car, like he wasn't an insane, mentally fucked individual. Nobody in their right mind would even assume that he had someone tied up in the back of his car, falling in and out of consciousness. There was the soft hum of the radio, a news station and despite trying your best to listen in, it was pointless.
"Y-You were m-more of a fighter than A-Anne," he broke the silence. It was him, he killed Anne. You felt your emotions contort, rage and sadness mixing in beautifully within your very person.
"You fucking monster," you spat, lurching forward a little. He laughed, shaking his head in response.
"P-Play the game, w-win stupid prizes, r-r-right? W—Well... N-Not so much for A-Anne.." he snickered, you felt even more repulsed. What kind of fucking game? How could this even be a game if the person had no idea they were playing?
"You're a sick fuck."
"A-And you a-accepted the i-invite!" he shrugged, keeping his gaze on the road momentarily before flicking you a look in the rear view mirror. You were struck with confusion.
"How?!" you voiced your concerns. He leant over for a moment, picking up something from the passenger seat before waving it up. It was a brown envelope.
"T-This look f-f-familiar, b-babe?" Your bottom lip wobbled, you were so fucking torn in anger you wanted to lash out more than anything and he knew this, he loved and thrived off the idea of getting under your skin. It was too easy, you were a fucking brat.
"It was you," your voice was gravelly and coarse but your anger was clear to see and it fuelled Toby more. How he was making you sick was unexplainable but it was more than evident that he killed Anne, if you were to escape this fucking nightmare, you had to do justice and go to the cops. A part of you bit back the guilt that snapped you in the ass purely for not doing it any sooner.
"Y-You're slow," he replied, a little sing song chime to his voice. What the fuck was this? A Saw movie in the making that almost everyone in your life just forgot to inform you on?
"What are you going to do to me?" There was a wobble in your voice, a wobble of uncertainty to whether you wanted to know the answer to your question or not. Maybe living in the unknown would be the better outcome.
You wished you could speak to mom, to dad. To say you're sorry for being the literal worst child in the world, to say goodbye and thank them for everything despite the fact that they were somewhat useless in their own aspect. You wanted to go back, back to the time where the only monster you had to worry about was the one under your bed. Where your dad would scare it away with his footsteps and then lull you to sleep with the trace of his fingertips against your forehead. This was nothing compared to the monster under your bed and now you wanted to reach out and cuddle that inner child of yours, to hold her hand and never let go. Life was so unfair, this was all so unfair.
"W-W-Well, your arm is b-b-bleeding out," he paused momentarily to look left and then right of any incoming traffic before stepping on the gas. The car hurled itself, like it was on the verge of dying itself. "P-Patch you up.." his voice trailed, leaving you in another state of confusion. Patch you up? Could he not make up his mind on whether to kill you or care for you? Had his mom never taught him to not play with his food? This was cruel. "G-Get you on your p-p-pretty knees and s-s-suck my cock, hm?" You felt repulsed, mostly because his words were so intoxicatingly inviting. He shifted in this seat, like he was getting a hard on just thinking about it.
"I f-f-feel like this w-was too fun, s-s-s-so, l-l-let's make a deal?" He glanced at you but you were still unable to make out any facial features. "I'll g-g-give you t-t-two weeks," he held up two fingers. "F-F-Find me a-a-another victim, p-pass this on and I'll l-l-let you live."
Two weeks? Your mind was being flooded with questions, so much so that your head began to hurt and throb even more. You had two weeks until you were dead? Your breath was caught in your throat. Not many people would know when they would die, unless they were terminally ill, right? Everyday, we all cross the day we die and now you knew.
"What.." was all you could bring yourself to say, your voice a whisper.
"T-T-Three weeks if you spread your l-l-legs." This guy was so fucking smug, you could hear it dripping off his voice. You felt disgusted and you scoffed. "B-But I'll give you o-one more c-chance." This would be easy, even though you would be sending someone else to their death, a part of you felt selfish for even thinking this. "B-But I'll be h-h-hunting you." You pursed your lips, you felt conflicted, almost like a part of you should just play along and another part of you should run to the cops to get this fucking freak busted. Your gut twisted, like running to the cops would be the worst outcome amongst all of this. You didn't even want to consider it, but you knew that this guy was skilled, like he had done all this messed up shit before. You were silent as he continued to drive, you had no idea where he was taking you but there was something telling you that you weren't going to die just yet.
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The drive was quiet, excruciating too as your arm continued to throb in pain. You felt nauseous and this guy wasn't necessarily a good driver, which quite frankly didn't surprise you either. You could only assume the roads were quiet considering the speed he was going at, which gave you another good indicator that it was late. No, not late, it had to be early morning. You had no idea but you were desperately trying to cling onto consciousness.
Another half hour passed and the car came to an abrupt stop, jolting you awake. You must've dozed off, your eyes feeling heavier than anything and suddenly you became far more alert and awake when he got out the drivers seat and slammed the door shut. You wouldn't like to say you had become frightened, but you knew that had arrived at some sort of destination and the surge of questions that plagued your mind were becoming a hefty reminder that you were not safe.
The passenger door swung open where your feet promptly laid closer to, causing you to slowly urge your head up. He was stood on the other end, it was still dark and you couldn't make out any fucking facial features which only irritated you some more.
"C-Come on then..!" there was a hint of excitement in his tone as he reached out for your legs but abruptly stopped, giving himself a small smack on his forehead. "O-O-Oh, right... Heh, how could I-I-I-I forget?" With a small chuckle, he pushed a hand into his trouser pocket. He was wearing cargo pants, that was for sure considering he had large pockets on the sides of his legs. Out he pulled a large piece of fabric, a black one and now he had began crawling towards you. In all honesty, you prepared for the worst. You'd had the occasional night flings, sure, so you weren't a virgin but the idea of being fucked by this complete psycho made you prepare yourself to muster up courage to fight back. You were expecting his hands to move to your pants but they didn't, instead he crawled over you so he was practically above you on his hand and knees.
There you could get a better look at his face. His hood was up and over his head and it seemed there were stray locks of brown that escaped from under his hood, flicking in different ways. His eyes were brown, with dark circles around his eyes and as you quickly flickered your eyes to take in every feature of his face, the black fabric he held within his hands suddenly was wrapped around your head. Your vision was blocked, your breathing making it hot under this fabric and your body prickled in anticipation for what the fuck was about to happen to you. You could hear him breathing above you still, like he was enjoying the sight of you being tied up, bleeding with a black sack over your head. His breathing was shaky, trembling almost as you tried to stifle your own breathing to hear what was going on outside of the black sack.
Then there was motion, his hand moved again and it sounded like he placed one just beside your head, the other moving to gently caress your cheek. Your body tensed up, the soft touch least expected in this situation especially by him. You could hear your own heartbeat and despite trying to calm your breathing, it was becoming deafening. You could've sworn that he could've heard it too, your heart thumping away helplessly under your rib cage. The hand that was caressing your cheek moved, slowly and now his thumb was gently pressing on the outline of your bottom lip. He couldn't see your mouth or facial features but it was like he was working on muscle memory alone, like maybe he had already done this to you before. Almost instinctively, you opened your mouth and his thumb hooked in toward your bottom teeth, using them to help force your mouth open more. With the fabric in the way, it wouldn't stop him and now he was leaning in to press his lips against your own. You couldn't feel his lips, just the roughness of the fabric but you knew he was kissing you.
Before you could even process what had happened, he was pushing himself off your frame and stepping out the car. His hands that had once shown you softness were now rough against your ankles as he pulled you out the car, sliding you across the seats and using his strength to pull you up and over his shoulder. The motion of it, along with not being able to see what was going on make you feel motion sick and you pushed back the urge to heave. Nothing would be worse than throwing up with a fucking black sack on your head and having to practically lie in your own vomit.
You could feel his footsteps beneath you as he walked and it felt he hadn't walked far until you heard the turn of a handle which squeaked and a door being pulled open. As he stepped inside with you over his shoulder, you could hear the change in his stepping. It sounded like dirt before but now it was like wooden flooring. There was a shuffle before he pulled you off his shoulder and sat you down on what you could only guess was a hard, wooden chair which honestly, hurt your ass so you shuffled for a moment. The door closed, trapping you here with him and then suddenly the black sack was ripped off your head. This allowed you to take a look around at your new surroundings.
It seemed like a wooden cabin, it didn't look homey at all, it was cold, some beams of wood broken like it had been hatched away at and there was a sleeping back on the floor which looked like was around a makeshift fire. The fire was out, what only remained was the ashes of one before this. It looked like it had previous residents but not from this person alone, like multiple. There were cigarette butts on the floor, some razor blades for reasons unknown and it seemed there were empty cans of.. deodorant? It was an odd little place, abandoned for sure and a part of you could only assume that maybe it was a hunting lodge? That could only mean you were in the woods but you were filled with uncertainty, after all, he did put a black bag over your head so you were just reaching out for any theories here. The cabin was dark however lit by a couple of stray candles that simply didn't provide enough light, your eyes straining in hopes to try and figure out who this person was.
The guy in front of you was pacing a little, a finger tapping against his chin like he was deep in thought. You could only assume he was coming up with ways on how to murder you, the thought alone made you quickly advert your gaze away from him. He paused and knelt down by the ash of what used to be a campfire, beside it was a black backpack, it seemed filled with all kinds of things but it was hard to make out what. Out he pulled a pocket knife and first aid kit before approaching you. He paused in front of your figure, like he was assessing you over.
"If.. I-I-I cut those ropes around your w-w-wrist, you won't l-l-lash out at me, will you?" his voice was stern, hoarse and for once, serious. You pursed your lips, how the hell could you trust him after what he had done in the first place? Reluctantly, you shook your head and you could've sworn he grinned beneath his mask. "G-Good." He then knelt down, raising the pocket knife to cut you free. You wanted to rub your raw wrists but the fear of moving your arm and having that strike of pain ripple throughout you made you freeze. You weren't going to risk it.
"N-Now, I'm n-n-no doctor, so.. y-y-eah," he was awkward as he pulled out a wrap of bandages and began to slowly unravel them, letting them press against your arm and wrap around. You hissed out and for once, he froze, like the idea of hurting you actually seemed to cross his mind and made him reluctant to continue. Had he actually had feelings? No, surely not. "I-If Jack was here, he'd do a b-b-better job than me," he chuckled a dry chuckle. "A-A-Although, he'd p-p-probably eat y-you." Jack? This guy actually had friends and they were just as scary as he was? What? Was this guy some kind of fucking cannibal? Or was he talking about an animal? Or even better yet, some kind of actual fucking monster?
He could sense your fear, it excited him and yet he continued his work on your arm. It hurt like hell without any kind of numbing miracle, but it was whatever.
"S-S-So... T-Two weeks, y-you mess up, y-y-you're dead," he grinned, his hands were trembling and occasionally his head would twitch. Your mind was rattling, questions flooding your system and quickly, you cleared your throat to speak.
"I just give someone an envelope right?"
"A-A brown o-one," he corrected with a soft shake of his head.
"Right, a brown one.. And then.. what they die?" He chuckled, not answering your question but it almost seemed that the chuckle was enough.
"And you're gonna try and stop me."
"S-S-Sounds fun, right!" You clenched your jaw, this guy was so fucking unhinged.
"But what about Anne, she gave me the envelope and she still died..!" you protested a little.
"S-She ran out of t-t-t-t—" he paused, sucked in a breath. "Time."
"So, this is my.. second chance?"
"Mmmh-hmm!"
"And they die? Like, I'm sending them to their death? What if the cops find out?"
"I l-love g-games."
Asking him questions were taking you nowhere, he was refusing to answer them and he was taking enjoyment out of your frustrations with him beating around the fucking bush.
Finally, he finished wrapping your arm up and stood, there was a click in his knees as he did so and carelessly, he threw the knife and first aid kit down to the floor. It tumbled and clattered against the wood, causing you to flinch a little in response. You shot a glance at your arm, it was a shitty job and you cringed a little at the idea of getting a possible infection over it.
"So, what now? Can I go home?" There was a tremble in your voice, like the true extent of your fear was showing. He shrugged.
"Awh, but t-the company is s-s-so nice," there was a soft whine in his voice and you shifted uncomfortably.
"You know where I live, right?" He scoffed, what you had said was clearly the most stupidest thing he had ever heard.
"R-Right.." his voice trailed off and then he turned, pushing a hand into his hoodie pocket to retrieve the black sack that was on you previously. "Y-Y-You don't m-mind?" Why was he asking you? You didn't fucking care, as long as you actually got out of this shit alive, it would be a miracle. You nodded, a bit too eagerly for your liking and he approached to slide the hood over your head.
It was black again, you held your breath as he picked you up and you returned to the car. This time, he left the sack on your head and you could make out the engine roaring to life and the motion of moving. You felt pretty nauseous but the idea of actually returning home made you feel a purge of excitement flush through your body. It felt like the first time in forever since you felt excited in general. You held your breath and let the car ride roll out.
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You must've fallen asleep because when you awoke, you were no longer in the back of the car. You were in your apartment room, the smell of it simply bringing tears to your eyes. You were home. Home, it hadn't felt like home in such a long time. Slowly, you moved your hand to caresses the sheet underneath you, you were on your bed. You were alive, you held your breath, half expecting that any minute something bad was about to happen. But a beat passed and nothing happened, you were still on your bed trying to steady your breathing. As you took your bedroom in, the messy pile on clothes shoved in the corner of your room, your bedside table full of bottles of all kinds of medication you had to take and then your teddy bears, staring at you on the other side of the room on the dresser. As you let your gaze settle on the soft bears, something else caught your eye. It was a letter, this time no brown envelope and slowly, you pushed yourself forward to reach out for it. There was no doubt that your arm hurt, it hurt like hell itself but you pushed through. The amount of bloodless wouldn't be good for you, but you seemed okay right now and the only thing you could simply be thankful for was the idea that you were actually alive.
Opening up the envelope, you read the writing. It was messy, as per usual.
'i did a shit job on ur arm. go to a hospital!!! :D ps. times ticking. dnt forget'
You held your breath, it was better than a death threat or another photo of Anne. This fucking guy. You crumpled it up, tossing it back onto the dresser before standing. Your head throbbed, but maybe it wasn't a bad idea to actually get your arm patched up by someone more professional. What was written was right however, you were on a ticking time bomb right now and you had to pick a person. Bella? No, you couldn't, she was young and had her whole life ahead of her, sure you did too, but she was kind and caring. Lisa, your therapist? She was old, maybe her time was due? You shuddered, you'd be sending people to their death and now this was some kind of game? Lisa was always a fucking backstabber, you were her patient and what you told her was supposed to be confidential but she would always run her mouth to your parents. Sure, they paid for the sessions but that didn't mean your business was suddenly theirs? You felt a tinge of anger and then your mind wandered to Anne.
She caused this, she did this to you. The days you spent swallowing yourself up with guilt, it felt like nothing. She passed this curse onto you, this problem and as much as you didn't want to admit it, you were glad that she was dead.
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A couple stitches here and there and you were back from the hospital. You were glad you didn't have to deal with any cop interrogations, you pulled some weakness excuse out your ass saying you simply hurt yourself while doing some D.I.Y it wouldn't explain it, sure, but you were patched up and they were off your back so it was a win, win either way.
You had been sat on your couch for an hour now, you would've been pacing back and forth but your head was hurting and the nurses and doctors advised you to relax. You simply couldn't, you had to pass an envelope to someone and someone soon. You should've asked this guy more questions, how would you get the envelope to begin with? Like, what, pass them an empty one or did you have to write some creepy fucking message? You bit your lip, pulling the skin off and swallowing it which made your lips raw. You did this a lot with your anxiety, you also bit the inside of your cheek a lot. God, you had issues and now doing something like this only made you feel more like an asshole to begin with.
Your phone was on the coffee table in front of you, the screen black as you exchanged a couple of glances toward it. You were tapping your thumb against your leg anxiously, feeling too scared to move a muscle and reach out for it.
Was Lisa your final option? Does she deserve this? Make an appointment and just give it to her, easy, right? Just say its like a 'thank you' letter, she wouldn't ask any questions, she'd be delighted to receive it? How would you get the brown envelope, just wait for it in your letterbox? Under the door? You sucked a breath, slowly reaching out toward your phone. It was your life or hers and she was old, like it fucking mattered. You sounded like a selfish asshole, you were going to rot in hell but it wasn't like you had a fucking choice!
Your hands trembled as you punched the pin code into your phone and opened up your contacts.
Lisa.
You pressed dial, pressed the phone to your ear and waited. It rung and rung and rung. Each time, your heart beating faster and faster. Then there was silence.
"Hello? [Y/N]?" You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out, you cleared your throat and forced a smile, like she could see you. Your voice trembled.
"Hey, Lisa."