One of Those Faces (12)

I powered the laptop down quickly. Where Holly’s picture had been was now my face reflected in the black mirror of the blank screen.

You walked away from her. And now she’s dead. You could have helped her.

You could’ve helped me.

I hummed aloud suddenly, breaking through the child’s voice in my head. Startled, Woodstock glowered at me from his perch on my lap. I petted him on the head and coaxed him onto the table.

If I had stopped to investigate the sound the night of Holly’s murder, I probably would be dead too.

You know that’s not true. You were scared.

I stood up and dragged my feet across the floor toward the bathroom, my humming growing louder. Without turning on the light, I opened the bottom cupboard, my fingers clumsily fumbling over the grainy wood until they wrapped around a folded piece of toilet paper. I pulled it out and quickly unfurled it to reveal the small pile of the remaining white pills.

Sleep was what I needed. Only for a few hours and I could quiet that voice. If I took two, I could probably forget about Holly and Issi altogether until tomorrow. If I took more I could forget everything forever.

I shook two pills into my hand, then counted those that remained before dropping them back into the paper. Erin had to have nonaddictive sleeping pills for a long time after she left rehab, which weren’t an ideal substitute. But she hadn’t refilled her prescription for those in nearly a year. She slept just fine these days. I had to stretch out these last pills or else snag the remaining few from her old hiding spot, which she was bound to notice eventually. I rerolled the pills and pushed them to the back of the cupboard and slammed the door. I didn’t leave the bathroom quickly enough, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the unlit mirror as I turned.

I grabbed clothes from the pile of clean laundry in my closet, throwing on the first shirt and pair of jeans I laid hands on. The walls were crushing me. The weight on my body threatened to choke the air from my lungs.

I considered the rabbit’s foot beside my laptop once again, staring at the matted fur before gripping it and twisting the attached metallic ring onto my own key fob.

I dropped it into my bag and bolted out the door, the wind instantly defying my escape and lashing my skin as I locked the door, tangling and twisting my hair against my scalp.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, the same heaviness from before pulled me down the street and into my familiar bookstore. I walked through the front row of shelves, with my eyes trained on the coffee shop on the other end of the store. My mouth was dry and salty from drinking my own brewed coffee over the past few days. I always let the coffee grounds sit and brew for too long.

Once I reached the empty counter and peered around the café to catch a barista, I noticed a familiar face. Iann was sitting at a table in the corner, where the café led into the shelving of the bookstore.

“What can I get for you?” The barista had suddenly materialized behind the counter.

I turned back to face him. “Black coffee, please.”

“What size?”

“The largest cup you can find.”

The college kid laughed, and I handed him the crumpled five-dollar bill I had crushed into my fist. As I turned around, Iann was looking down at his table, furiously scribbling on a stack of papers.

The barista handed me my change. I glanced over my shoulder to see Iann shaking his head and marking the page in front of him with a red pen several times.

I picked up the coffee the barista had silently placed on the counter behind me and walked to Iann’s table. I stood behind him, watching as he marked harsh red lines through double-spaced typed pages. I tapped his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Oh, hi,” he said when he finally looked at me. “How long were you standing there?”

I took a sip of coffee. “Not long. You’re very focused on whatever that is.” I knew what it was. My father had reveled in paper grading. With each red mark, he would laugh and explain to anyone standing close enough to hear why his student was wrong.

Iann shoved two large textbooks into the chair directly beside him and moved the stack of papers to the edge of the table. “Do you want to sit here?” His eyes seemed slightly glazed over. He hadn’t had much sleep either.

I settled across from him into the wooden chair.

“What brings you here today?” he asked, leaning back and stretching his arms behind him.

“I needed some fresh air.” I cradled my mug between both hands and took a sip. The bite of the coffee reinvigorated me in a way the fresh air hadn’t. “I’ve been working at home for the past couple of days.”

He nodded and rubbed the edge of his jaw. He was somewhere else entirely in his thoughts. He hadn’t shaved in several days. There was scruff darkening his cheekbones and chin.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

He finally met my eyes. “Oh, I’m grading final papers.” He patted the stack in front of him. “I also needed some fresh air.”

I grasped my cup more tightly and took another swig. The steam rising from the coffee burned my nose slightly. “How’s Leo?”

He stared at me for several seconds before answering. He was somewhere else again. “He’s part of the reason I had to get out of my apartment. If I work at home, he keeps trying to get me to play with him.” He also took a sip of his drink, and we looked at each other awkwardly. “Uh, did you hear anything about your friend’s date with Jeremy?”