Gods & Monsters(88)

Sky’s not the person I wanna talk to right now. I need to find Pixie. I have to. I have to talk to her, listen to her sweet voice. I need to dial her number but I’m almost crushing the phone in my hands. Any second now, it’s gonna break, shatter into a million pieces. I’m gonna smash it to dust with my bare hands.

I should stop. Phone’s my only hope right now. My only hope is that she might pick up my call and talk to me. My only hope is that she’ll let me comfort her.

Why didn’t she tell me?

Maybe she did. The night I was out, getting bored out of my mind without Pixie, she was drinking. She hardly ever drinks. She likes to think that she loves it, loves the bitter taste of it, but I notice her tiny grimaces. It makes me smile every time she acts badass.

It’s you and me against the world. I know that now.

Jesus. Fuck. She tried to tell me and I was busy fucking into her. I was too drenched in lust, in my need for her.

I should really stop now. It’s not really the phone I wanna destroy, it’s them: her fucking parents. They have no idea what death is. They have no idea how it feels when someone you love is gone. You can’t reach for them. You can’t touch them. You know in your heart, in your very bones that they are no more. They don’t exist. Where you saw their faces, their smiles, there’s only a void. You see the casket. You see their closed eyes. You see that their chest is not moving. Their body is lying useless.

That’s what death is. It’s black. A vacuum, without body, without substance. Without breaths.

I should dial her number and fucking pray to God that she picks up. But I never learned how to pray. My mom wanted me to but I’m like Dad. He never believed in God either.

Maybe there’s a God, Abel, but I don’t believe in Him. I only believe in myself.

Somehow, I uncurl my fingers and call Pixie. Of course, she doesn’t pick up. It hurts. It fucking hurts but right now, I need her to know that I’m here for her. So, I leave her a message. “Pixie, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. About the treehouse. About everything. I’m not… I’m not good with words like you are. I’d rather hold you, kiss your tears away. I’d rather cover you with my body so nothing can get to you. But I guess I can’t do that right now, huh,” I whisper, my eyes stinging. “I fucking hate this. I hate what they did. Hate that it’s hurting you and I’m not there to comfort you like you deserve. But, baby, you need to talk to me. Gimme a chance to make it right. I’ll make it right for you. I’ll fucking burn them down. I’ll burn that entire place down, if you want. Just come back, Pixie. Please, come back.”

For the first time in forty-eight hours, I wonder if I’m speaking into a void.





The ringing of my phone wakes me up. Again, I have no idea when I fell asleep. I only know that I’m in our room, propped by the wall, my phone in hand.

And the display says it’s Pixie.

Sitting up straight, I thump a fist to my chest, trying to get my lungs, my heart going, and hit accept at the same time. “Pixie?”

There’s silence but I can hear breathing. It makes my breathing easier. As if she’s giving me life.

“Say something,” I whisper. Now that we’re connected, I’m drawing a blank as to what to say to her. I run through all the emotions I possibly can in the seconds that pass. Relief, anger, fear, love.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know I made you worry and I shouldn’t have left without talking to you first.”

“Yeah. But doesn’t matter now.”

“Did you get some sleep in the last two days?”

My lips twitch in a small smile. “No.”

“Have you been looking for me all over?”

“What do you think?”

I hear her swallow. “I want you to stop.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to be found. By you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should stop looking for me.”

I laugh; I can’t help it. This is funny. Because if it’s not funny then it’s gotta be the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard. “They got to you, didn’t they? It’s your parents. They’ve finally convinced you I’m not good enough. They’ve finally made you hate me.”

“It’s not…” Her voice breaks. “It’s not my parents, Abel. It’s no one. Nobody got to me.”

“Then why the fuck are you trying to hurt me?” I shout, and then regret it. I didn’t mean to scream at her, not when she’s talking to me.

I don’t want a repeat of what happened at Nick and Blu’s place. I don’t want to fight. I only want to hold her. I want that privilege back. She can’t take it away from me now, when I need it to live.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Abel. I’m trying to set you free.” She swallows again.

I know she’s trying to blink her eyes, trying to get rid of her tears, and I grip the phone tighter. Jesus, I don’t want her to cry. Every time she does, it’s like someone is slashing my skin. Her tears are my poison. And she was sobbing that night when she left me.

“Don’t cry. Please,” I beg in a whisper.

She sniffles. “Okay. I’m not.” Clearing her throat, she says, “You’re angry, Abel. You’re so mad at them.”