Collared(76)

My heartbeat is the only thing disturbing the silence.

When I sit on the edge of the bed, I tell myself to lie down and crawl under the covers. I can’t. The dark isn’t as thick as the kind I’ve known, but the little bit of light cutting through the drawn shades is drawing patterns on my walls, sketching images I’m reading too much into.

When I close my eyes, the dark’s still there.

My heart picks up speed, and my breath follows.

A crashing sound erupts from right outside my room. It’s so loud that when I spin around, I expect to find a smashed piano that has dropped from the sky in front of my rocking chair.

But my room’s the same. Nothing’s different.

I hear another crash; this one seems even louder. If it’s not inside my room, it has to be right outside my room. From the sound of it, just outside my window or the back door coming off the miniscule laundry room.

Someone’s trying to break in. Someone knows I’m here and is coming to take me. For another decade or forever this time. He’s here, and this time, I’m not getting out.

I grab my phone from my nightstand, fly across the room, and duck into the closet. After throwing the doors closed, I slide back until I find the corner. I can’t tell if the crashing noise I hear is an echoing in my head or real. So I cover my ears and close my eyes, but it’s still there. It can’t be real. I couldn’t hear that sound with my ears covered like this—it would be duller, not so sharp, like it’s clapping right between my ears.

I tell myself this, over and over again, but it doesn’t chase away the fear. Fear stays fitted around me like a suit of armor, heavy and impenetrable.

I lift the phone and focus on its light. I want to call my parents. I want to beg them to come get me and keep me safe. I want to ask them to lock me in a cell that no one has the key to. I want to ask them to hide me from the world for the rest of my life so I don’t have to feel like this.

Right now, I’d exchange uncertain freedom for a safe cage. I wouldn’t think twice about it.

That’s why I know I can’t call them. I can’t let them know I’m so terrified I just want to crawl into Mom’s lap and let her rock away my fears. I can’t let them know I feel so exposed that I want to slip under their blankets and fall asleep between them.

I can’t let them know I feel the same way they do, because then I’ll never get better. I’ll continue to stagnate on my best days and decay on my worst.

I can’t get better by giving in to my fear—I can only get better by facing it.

When I hit the call button, it isn’t the number to my parents. It’s not even the one to Sam’s cell. It’s the number I still have in the number one spot.

Even though I haven’t called it in two weeks. Even though I should probably delete it. Even though . . . he’s still in the number one spot.

My hands are still shaking as the phone rings, but they’re not quaking as they had been.

The phone rings twice, then three times, and when it hits a fourth, I worry he’s not going to answer. I worry he’s never going to answer again because I’ve done enough damage and he’s had enough.

I’m anticipating his voicemail when he answers. He’s quiet.

“Torrin?” I let out a long breath, trying to exhale the pent-up fear. “Torrin?”

He’s quiet for another minute, then I hear his sigh. “I’m here, Jade. What is it?”

He sounds tired. Since it’s almost eleven, he was probably asleep. It’s not just tired I hear in his voice though; it’s something stronger. Exhaustion? Fatigue? Something not brought on just by lack of or need for sleep.

“I’m sorry to call you so late . . . after not talking to you for a while—”

“You’re sorry for ignoring my calls for the past two weeks? Is that what you’re saying?”

I hear more noises, but these are different than the crashing ones that sent me flying into the closet. These ones sound like they’re right above me, like something’s trying to crawl through the ceiling to get me.

“I’m sorry for that and everything else.” My voice is breaking from the fear.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is a note higher, more urgent sounding now. “Jade, what is it?”

“I just moved into my new place and . . .” I don’t know what to say. I’m scared? I feel alone? I need someone here with me? I don’t know what to say or what I can say. “I know it’s really late . . .”

“Yeah, you mentioned that already. Can we move past that it’s really late to the reason you called me?” Worry is playing with his voice, breaking it over words like my own.

“I just . . . it’s probably nothing . . . but I keep hearing these noises . . .” I feel like a child running into her parents’ bedroom during a thunderstorm. I’m about to ask him if he’ll come over when I hear something in his background. Movement.

“Where are you?” More noise in the background.

“The Bluff Apartments. I’m unit 2B.”

“I’m coming.” I hear what sounds like a door slam shut. “I can be there in ten minutes.”

I try to ignore the noises coming from above me, but I can’t. The more I ignore them, the louder they seem to become. “There’s a gate. The code is . . .”