Pen Pal(68)

I’m so jumpy and strung out, I scream when a fly lands on my arm.

Desperate for contact, I send Aidan a text.

I miss you.

He doesn’t respond for so long, I think he won’t at all. But then his text comes through with a little chime that has my heart leaping into my throat.

I miss you, too.

He sends a white rabbit emoji along with it. For some strange reason, that brings tears to my eyes.

Can I come over?

This time his response is instant.

You still wearing that ring?

No.

Did you take it off right before you answered me?

Shit. Why does the man have to be so insufferably intelligent?

Please, Aidan. I need to see you. Please.

Sorry, bunny.

I stare at the screen, biting my lips. He doesn’t sound very sorry. Maybe I need to sweeten the offer.

May I please come over…master?

My phone remains silent.

I wonder if I should send him a snap of my booty or boobs, but the thought of taking a series of unflattering nude pictures in desperate search for one good enough to entice a man into allowing me to run to see him leaves me even more depressed than I was before.

How did I get to this point in my life? What the hell has happened to me?

When the doorbell rings and I find the step empty when I open the front door, I decide the only logical thing left to do is get drunk.

If I’m going insane, there’s no reason to do it sober.





“Kayla? Kayla dear, can you hear me?”

I open my eyes to find Fiona bending over me with a concerned expression on her face. It’s morning—apparently, Monday morning—and I’m lying on my back on the living room sofa with a splitting headache and a mouth that tastes like ashes.

“My,” she says, chuckling. “You look a sight. Had a wee bender over the weekend, did you, dear?”

“It was more than wee.” I sit up. The room tilts, and my stomach lurches along with it. I cover my mouth with a hand and produce a loud, unladylike burp.

“Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, everything is splendiferous. Absolutely top notch.”

She purses her lips and gives me a disapproving look. “I must say, sarcasm is very unbecoming on you.”

“You’ll have to cut me some slack. I recently realized my brain has gone missing. Even worse, I realized it’s probably been gone for quite a while.”

“There’s not a thing wrong with your brain, my dear. Now, get off that sofa and pull yourself together. I don’t like to see you moping about.”

“I’m not moping,” I mutter, knowing that’s exactly what I’m doing.

When Fiona turns to walk away, I say, “Would it be okay if I asked you for some personal advice?”

Surprised, she turns back to me. “Of course. What is it?”

I exhale and drag my hands through my hair. Leaning over, I prop my forearms on my thighs and stare at the carpet while I gather my thoughts. “When someone says they’re giving you space, but you don’t want the space they’re trying to give, how do you handle that?”

“You mean they’ve closed a door, but you want it to open?”

I nod, liking that imagery.

When I glance up to meet her gaze, hers is soft and sympathetic. She says gently, “My dear girl. You knock.”

Just then, the doorbell rings.

Fiona smiles. “Or you ring the bell. I’ll get it.”

When she turns and walks away, I call after her, “There won’t be anybody there!”

“One never knows,” she says, chuckling as if she’s enjoying some private joke. She leaves the room. A few moments later, she returns, shaking her head.

“Well, you were right. There was nobody there.” She pauses, staring at me meaningfully. “That I could see, anyway.”

I groan and drop my head into my hands. “Okay. You win. We’ll do the séance.”

The doorbell rings again. The television turns itself on, volume thunderous. From the hallway comes the distinct pop of a light bulb exploding in one of the fixtures.

Fiona says somberly, “I think that’s a very good idea.”





33





Dear Dante,

Thank you for the advice. I must say, however, it was shitty.

“You are the storm. What are your thunder and lightning telling you?” Was that really supposed to be helpful? Because it wasn’t.

Please forgive the rudeness, but my life is falling apart. Correction, it already fell apart. I’m just wandering around in all the broken pieces, kicking up dust and cutting my feet on shards of glass.

And by the way, what was that whole thing about the love that turned the stars and the wheels? That was confusing as hell. As a matter of fact, all your letters have been confusing. I still don’t know what you want from me or why you decided we should be pen pals or how you even found me in the first place.

I hardly know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. I don’t even know if these letters are real. Maybe I’m staring at the wall in my locked room in a mental institution, conjuring all this up in my head? That’s what it feels like, anyway. I feel like I let go of the rope that tied me to a dock, and now I’m drifting alone far out at sea in a leaking raft that’s being circled by hungry sharks. And the wind is picking up. And it’s starting to rain.