Not Looking for Love: Episode 4

by Bourne, Lena

  Contents:

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Note From The Author

  Not Looking For Love: Episode 4

  By

  Lena Bourne

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Lena Bourne

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  or given away to other people in any form or by any means. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I wake up at dawn, shivering from the cold, grey light of dawn streaming in through the roof window. My bones feel frozen and my fingers are numb as I press the button of my phone to wake it. But the screen remains black, my reflection staring back at me.

  What if Scott snuck by me while I slept? Lunging to my feet, I almost topple down the stairs because my legs are so stiff. I would've heard him come in, I'm sure of it, but my hope is stronger. I bang on the door, calling his name, my shrill, broken voice echoing in the silent stairwell.

  There's no reply, no movement on the other side of the door.

  Scott wouldn't have left me to sit out in the hallway all night, if he saw me here. I'm sure of that too.

  His cat is meowing wildly upstairs, scratching at the attic door. The hallway is twirling around me, and the door is a blur since I'm looking at it through a sheet of tears. But I can't stop knocking, and I can't stop crying. There's no rational Gail inside my mind anymore, no voice of reason. All that's left is this crazy Gail who thought things were finally beginning to get better. Only now I'm drowning in the raging black waves, swallowed by the abyss, and I can't even breathe, let alone stop crying.

  I used to have a car charger, I suddenly remember, already running down the stairs and through the front door. The cold grips me like a vice as soon as I exit into the alleyway, but I'm half frozen anyway, so I'm already one with it.

  The street is deserted because it's Sunday, or maybe because the whole world is standing still. Inside the car I dig through the glove compartment, sending the contents toppling to the floor, not caring where they land. All the way in the back I finally find my charger, and the grin spreading across my face must look like someone cut my face open.

  I plug it in, my legs shaking as I wait for the screen to turn on. I have two texts and a voice mail, and my heart is twisting from beating so fast. Warmth is spreading through my chest so fast I can actually hear the ice crackling as it melts.

  But all the messages are from Phillipa. I should have called her, should have let her know I wasn't coming to her party. She sounded so worried on the voice mail she left, like she was sure something bad happened to me, and I can't believe I ruined her birthday party. Only something bad did happen.

  I dial Scott's number. It rings for a long time. During each silence between the rings I hold my breath, so sure he'll pick up and tell me all he said was just a joke. I can see him now, a crooked smile playing on his lips, and his eyes shining with a light brighter than the sun telling me all will be alright.

  Only he doesn't pick up, and I press End Call before his voice mail message comes on, because the raging black waves are in my mouth now, and I can't swim, can't breathe.

  When are you coming home? I text, because I have to do something, have to reach out to him, make him reach back, or I will drown.

  I stare at the screen, waiting, not breathing. My phone's the only thing I see, the only thing that exists in the whole world.

  I'm not. He finally texts back and I exhale.

  Why?

  Because you're there. Just go Gail.

  I whimper, fresh tears filling my eyes. Because I know how cold he would sound if he spoke the words, how black and empty his eyes would be, must be, right now as he's typing this.

  Can we talk?

  No. The reply comes a split second after I press send.

  Why?

  I stare at the phone so hard it's like the screen is sucking me in, but there's no reply. I'm sobbing so loudly I'm sure people in the houses lining the street all hear me, and maybe they do, but no one comes out. The world is dark like the blackest night now, as blank as the screen of my phone.

  He wants me to leave. I knew he didn't want me back in the first place, I knew it all along.

  A shred of pride wakes in my mind, speaks with my mom's voice as she tells me to stop acting crazy and drive away. It's the only reason I shift into drive. If my mom thinks it's for the best then it must be.

  I remember none of the drive back to Connecticut. The house is stuffy and silent when I enter, the only sound the humming of the fridge. My bladder is twisted in pain, I have to pee so badly, but I couldn't stop on the way, because then I'd just turn right back.

  After I take care of that, I take a scalding hot shower, but it's not washing the pain away. The heat only adds to my anxiety today, until it's bubbling in my stomach, constricting my lungs, filling them with a smokey mess until I can't breathe. I turn off the shower once black dots start filling my vision, and the blood rushing through my ears sounds like the Niagara Falls.

  I like down on my bed, wrapped only in a towel, staring up at the ceiling, willing my heartbeat to return to normal. Only it's like the raging black sea is inside my blood, the waves crashing against me from inside, and I know I'll never escape it now. My mom's voice doesn't come to comfort me this time. All I see are Scott's cold black eyes, all I hear is his hollow toneless voice. Just go Gail.

  I pull the phone from my purse, and my fingers start typing, my mind powerless to stop them. If I can't find an anchor I will float away.

  I'm gone now. You can go home. I text, tears flowing down my face.

  I know. He writes back a second later.

  I'm already dialing his number, sure he'll pick up now, certain he wants to talk to me too.

  But he doesn't pick up.

  Stop calling.

  I want to talk. It's all so weird. I feel like we're already talking. Like I'm looking at him and he's looking at me standing in the living room of his small apartment. Any second now he'll put his arms around me and I'll cry for awhile, but I'll feel better afterwards, and time will stand still and nothing will touch me, not my mom's death, nor the murder of my child, because Scott's holding me and nothing bad will ever happen again.

  No. His text cuts through me like an axe. And the pain doesn't stop.

  Why?

  It's for the best.

  How?

  But there's no reply. The phone is black and cold in my hand, like a river stone, licked smooth beyond recognition.

  I climb under the covers still clutching my phone, still hoping he'll change his mind and answer my calls. But all the calls go straight to voicemail now, and each time I hear
his voice it's like a million sharp needles stabbing at my heart. I finally brave it and listen to the whole thing, because I have to if I want to leave a message.

  My voice is firm and steady as I tell him he's being cruel, irrational and mean. But I also tell him how much I want him to call me back, and would he please just do it. But he doesn't and I fall asleep waiting, because I can't cry anymore, because I can hardly breathe, and the pain isn't easing as the hours pass.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Gail, are you OK?" Phillipa's voice wakes me. It's dark outside and she's shaking my shoulder. I rub my eyes, blinking up at her, my swollen eyes stinging from the cold.

  "What happened to you?" Phillipa persists, and a fresh ball of tears forms in my throat.

  "I'm so sorry for missing your party," I croak. "I should've called…should've come…"

  I can't go on because I spent the whole night sitting in a cold stairwell, and I can't tell her that. She'll think I've gone insane. Only maybe I have. Right now, I don't even know if any of what Scott and me shared the last few weeks is real, or just a figment of my sick mind.

  She's just staring at me, probably because she's waiting for a better excuse, but I have nothing. I sit up and pull the comforter all the way up to my chin.

  She reaches over and turns on the light on my nightstand. "Did something happen with that guy?"

  I nod, because speaking will just make me break out in sobs.

  "What?" she asks, leaning over so her face is only inches from mine.

  "He…he broke up with me," I choke out and watch the panic melt from her eyes, which only makes me sob harder. What did she think? That he hurt me?

  She sighs and slips off her shoes, then pulls her feet onto the bed, sitting cross-legged across from me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  I'm staring at her with my eyes wide open, hoping that will keep the tears away. Saying anything will make it real, but if I don't tell anyone it's like nothing even happened.

  "He told me he doesn't want to see me anymore, just like that, and I don't even think he really meant it, at least it doesn't feel like he really meant it." The words are tumbling from my mouth before my thoughts can catch up to what I'm saying. Maybe Phillipa will be able to make sense of them. "We were having such a great time together, and even my mom dying wasn't so painful when I was with him. Then he just told me to leave. Just like that. And he won't even explain why."

  Phillipa's eyes are wide now, and gleaming with pity. "Have you called him?"

  I nod again. "I even waited all night for him to come home, but he didn't. I called like a hundred times but he won't answer. I messed it all up so bad."

  "I'm sure that's not true." Phillipa clucks her tongue. "Sounds to me he just took advantage of you. Grief is a process—"

  "He didn't," I interject. She can't think Scott used me in anyway. "I was the one using him. At least in the beginning. I thought we were getting past that, hoped we could…"

  It was the cop visiting that made him break up with me. I'm sure of it. But I can't tell Phillipa that.

  She lays her hand on my thigh. "Grief sometimes makes people act out in strange ways, Gail. Maybe you expected more from him than he could give you. More than anyone can. You have to let yourself grieve for your mother. It's the only way you will get past it."

  She's speaking as the psychologist she'll be one day now, but tears are streaming down my face. My mom's eyes are blank and sightless staring at the ceiling, the blue mascara on her eyelids too bright as they close the lid of her coffin. I'm not even in this room. I'm watching the soil swallow my mom's coffin at the cemetery, and in my mind I'm screaming.

  Phillipa climbs up so she's sitting beside me on the bed, and pulls my head down to her chest, stroking my hair. If I close my eyes and think of nothing else, it's almost like Scott's holding me. If I concentrate really hard I can even smell his cologne.

  "He's an asshole for doing that to you, though," Phillipa says after awhile. "Whatever the reason."

  I sob louder, because her words broke through the vision, and now I'm alone on the dark beach again, waves crashing against the shore, drowning my baby, churning black earth swallowing what remains of my mom.

  But Phillipa's not letting me go and I won't push her away, because her warm, soft body is the only thing letting me know that I'm still real, still present in a world where I used to be normal.

  The sun rising wakes me the next morning. Phillipa is breathing evenly beside me, still dressed. My phone rings and my heart does a summersault in my chest, then begins to beat furiously, hope erupting like lava through my chest.

  But it's not Scott, it's Gran.

  "Gail, how are you?" she asks after I pick up. But there's a steel edge in her voice and I know that's not the real reason she's calling.

  "Fine, I guess. How are you?" I venture, speaking softly and inching from the room so as not to wake Phillipa.

  "I had expected you to visit me by now, Gail," Gran says, her tone cutting. "I am not doing well and I don't know how long I have yet to live. Not long, I think. You should come."

  Her voice sounds so strong, so firm, that I'm sure she's still far from death, but her words cause tears to fill my chest, inch up into my throat.

  "I'm sorry," I stammer. "I will come soon…this weekend."

  "I might not live that long."

  "Why? What's wrong?" I'm whispering so I don't even know if she heard me.

  "I'm old, Gail. Very old and very alone."

  So am I, I want to shout, but I swallow it.

  "I'll come soon. On Wednesday, I promise." It's the one day in the whole week when I only have two morning classes.

  "I hope I will be able to wait for you," she says and hangs up without saying goodbye.

  It's nothing new with her. She acted exactly like this all of the first year she was in the retirement home. But I was certain these early morning accusatory calls were behind us.

  "Did he call you?" Phillipa asks from the doorway to my bedroom.

  I shake my head and look down at the long graze in the hardwood floor from when we stupidly tried to move one of the dressers when we first moved into this house. I wonder how much the owner will charge us to fix it.

  "Forget him!" Phillipa says and grins. "Tonight we'll go out and get wasted, and by tomorrow, you'll be over him."

  "I don't know, maybe," I say and shrug.

  "Nonsense, we're going. You missed my party, so it's only right that I take you out now."

  I finally look up into her eyes. "I'm so sorry about that, I really am."

  "No worries, Gail. You had other problems to deal with, I understand that." She walks over and places her hands on my shoulders. "I haven't been a very good friend to you either, since you came back. I should've supported you more, and spent more time with you. I plan to make up for that now. How about some breakfast?"

  She wraps her arm around my shoulders and I let her lead me down the stairs.

  She talks at me the whole time while she's making the coffee and setting the breakfast table, but all I see is Scott making a sandwich here on the night he stayed over, or eating the cold leftovers of the pizza we ordered later that night, because he said it tasted bad heated in the microwave. I've never met anyone more picky about food before.

  The thought chokes me, until I can hardly swallow the coffee I just took a sip of.

  I slam the coffee cup on the table, making it slosh over in the process. "I should get ready for class."

  Phillipa is staring at me again, concern and pity filling her eyes in equal measure.

  "I'm fine," I mutter and rush from the room, because really I'm not and she knows it.

  "See you tonight," she calls after me, when I come back down dressed for school. "It will be so much fun."

  "Yes," I yell back as I'm zipping up my boots. I'll make some excuse later.

  All day in class, I'm checking my phone, waking it each time the screen turns black. The battery is flashing red by the time my last class
ends. It's already dark outside, and all I want to do is go home and sleep.

  "Ready to go out, then?" Phillipa asks as I enter the kitchen. She's making mushroom omelettes and the table is set for two. Normally I love her omelettes, but today I'm sure I won't even be able to force a single bite down.

  I sit at the table and bury my face in my hands. "Not really."

  "If you're sure," she says and places half the omelettes on the plate in front of me.

  "Eat," she urges as she sits down.

  I pick up my knife and fork and cut off a small piece, bringing it to my mouth. I was sure I had no appetite, but the omelette melts in my mouth, and then I'm stuffing it in, not even bothering with the knife. I haven't eaten in almost thirty-six hours now, and that's long even for me.

  Phillipa dumps half of her omelette on my plate once I finish mine. "Here, have some more."

  I shake my head, trying to give it back, since my mouth is full and I can't speak. That only makes her laugh louder.

  "There's nothing a good meal won't fix," she says. "At least that's what my grandmother always says."

  She gets up and comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "I got this just in case you didn't feel like going out."

  "Thanks for being so understanding, Phillipa," I say, scraping the last of my food off the plate.

  "No need to thank me, it's a given," she says and pours for us both. "Want to take these in the living room? We'll worry about the dishes tomorrow."

  I take a long swallow of my wine as I follow her out of the kitchen.

  By my third glass, the world is pleasantly fuzzy and I'm pretty certain I don't need Scott for anything anymore. Ever. I hardly even knew him, and he was just a mistake I made, long ago. A mistake some other Gail made. A messed up, insane Gail. After we finish the first bottle, Phillipa brings out a second.

  "I knew we'd need more than one," she says as she struggles to unwrap the plastic covering the cork. "So I got four."