For A Good Time, Call...

by Gadziala, Jessica

  “Maybe you should have made it seem like that was an option.”

  “Maybe you should stop acting like a boy and start being a man. Take responsibility. Running away was a chicken shit move. That's why you knew I would send for you. Why you knew you needed a beating for it. I wouldn't have lost respect in this town if I allowed one of my boys to go off and live a different life. Having one just take off, however...”

  “I get it, Dad,” I said, feeling guilty. He was good at that. He was good at guilt. Which, more so than the threat of violence, was probably what made him such an efficient parent. “So what now?” I asked, knowing it wasn't going to be as simple as he was making it out to be. “You're not just going to let me take off back to the city after all the trouble you went through to get me here.”

  “No,” he agreed, offering me his arm as I tried to stand. “you're right. You're not going back yet. I need you to show your face around here for a while. At least until it heals up. Show everyone that you're back, punished, and starting your own life. Then you can leave.” he followed me to the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet to bring the coffee grounds down for me. “Though your mother and I would really like it if you stayed of course. Go get your girl and bring her back. You'll be welcome here always.”

  I turned back and looked at him, my father. A man who I had, for the most part, only seen be ruthless and methodical. The only softness about him seemed to exist when he looked at my mother. But maybe I had always been so wrapped up in my own misery and my own anger that I couldn't see how much he actually cared about his kids.

  “You know,” he said, a strange smile playing with his lips. “We have been waiting a long, long time for one of you to get your shit together and give us some grandbabies.”

  I found myself smiling back at him. “Don't push it.”

  In the end, I had to stay three months. I worked at the store. I went to the bar and drank with my family. I went to Sunday dinners. I rebuilt the bond I had snapped when I left. Everyone seemed to let bygones be bygones. My face healed as did my relationships with my brothers, even Shane.

  My mom met me at the car one morning, her maternal sixth sense somehow knowing that today was the day. She had a take away coffee in one hand and a small blue jewelry box in the other. “Go get her,” she said. “Then bring her here to meet me, you hear?”

  I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Yes ma'am,” I said, climbing in my car and heading back to the city. To Fee.

  She was going to be so pissed.

  Twenty-One

  There was a new tenant in the apartment next door. The apartment it had taken me ten weeks to not call “Hunter's apartment” anymore. I saw the moving truck yesterday afternoon and a guy about my age dragging endless boxes inside. I probably should have helped. That's what neighbors did, right?

  I was really trying. Since I got back. Since I got over my little stint of half-insanity over Hunter's disappearance. I had blasted raging chick music. I went out drinking. I flirted with other men. I cried myself to sleep. I became a stereotype that I hated. For a good two months before I snapped out of it.

  There were other men. Good men. Men who didn't just fucking take up and leave out of nowhere. So I was trying. I went out at night, but I didn't get trashed. I had, for the most part, stopped trying so hard to self-destruct. I was healing.

  I grabbed the potted plant I had went out to grab yesterday and went into the hall. As much as I tried to deny it, there was a twisting in my chest as I raised my hand to knock. But that was stupid and the past. I needed to get over it.

  “Hi,” the man opened the door, light brown hair, handsome face, big honey-colored eyes. Friendly. He seemed nice.

  “Hey,” I said, giving what I hoped was a friendly smile, not a creepy serial killer one. I held out the plant. “I'm Fiona... from sixteen,” the word was painful to say still. Damn him. “I just wanted to welcome you to the building.” God, I felt stupid. Every word felt awkward and forced. “I... ah... stay out most of the night and run a phone sex line during the day.” There. That felt more natural.

  He stood there dumbly for a second then threw his head back and laughed. “Alright, Fiona. I'm Jake. I... work at a hotel and my boyfriend and I like to have loud sex all night.”

  “Well, that works out nicely,” I laughed.

  “Want to come in for a minute?” he asked. No. Oh, god no. I couldn't. Even though it was empty for months, I hadn't been able to step foot inside again after the day I took my cactus back.

  “Sure,” I said, squaring my shoulders and walking through the doorway.

  “I was expecting to have to do a ton of work in a neighborhood like this. But the last tenant must have done a lot of work...”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, running my hand over the kitchen cabinet. “he did.”

  “Oh, crap,” Jake said, looking at me warily. “He didn't... die in here did he?”

  “No,” I laughed, shaking my head. “This one just up and left one day.” Left me one day. “But the guy before him did die in here. Heroin is a bitch.”

  “Oh, okay. Well... I'll just burn some sage or something,” he smiled.

  “Well, it looks like you still have a lot of unpacking to do,” I said, moving my way to the door. “I wont keep you. If you want to maybe come over for dinner tomorrow, I'd be happy to cook. I know you'll probably be living on take-out till you get all this sorted out so maybe...” I should shut up. I was rambling and strange.

  “Sure,” he said, eagerly, saving me from any further embarrassment. “That sounds great.”

  –

  Jake ended up going with me the next afternoon to pick up groceries, helping me with the bags back to my apartment. I reached for my keys but the door was slightly open. I rolled my eyes at Jake and pushed the door open. “Isaiah, you need to stop fucking leaving the door open. Isaiah,” I called, dropping the groceries on the counter and walking around my apartment looking for him.

  He had a habit of dropping in without calling, using the keys I had given him the week he crashed on my couch while he was trying to deal with losing our father... and then our grandmother within a few weeks.

  “Well,” I huffed, walking back to the living room where Jake was looking around. “He's graduated from leaving the door open while he was here, to forgetting to close it when he leaves.”

  “Your boyfriend?” Jake asked, running a hand over my couch.

  “My brother,” I clarified. “He's not from around here. He doesn't understand that in the big bad city... we need to lock the...” I trailed off, looking to the center of my coffee table with a dropping feeling in my stomach.

  “What's wrong?” Jake asked, eyeing me. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head, looking around the room. “I just... there is usually a cactus on that table. He must have... moved it.” But even as I said it, it felt wrong. Why would he move my cactus?

  It was, however, the only logical explanation seeing as nothing else in my apartment was missing. No one would break in and steal my eight dollar cactus but leave my five-hundred dollar television.

  “Alright,” I said, shaking off the weird feeling. “How does vegetable alfredo over pasta sound?”

  “Fabulous,” he said, putting a hand over his heart.

  It was late when we finally decided to call it quits after a bottle of wine and more pasta than two people should ever eat by themselves. I walked him to the door, agreeing to let him accompany me to the gym the next morning.

  As I walked back into the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. “Did you forget something?” I asked, sliding the chain and pulling the door open.

  I almost passed out. Literally. Like... I had to grab the doorjamb to keep myself from falling flat one my face.

  Because there in the hall was fucking Hunter.

  “Oh hell fucking no,” I said, moving back and slamming the door in his face. My hands fu
mbled as I tried to get all my locks into place. No no no no no.

  “Open up, Sixteen,” he called, sounding lazily flirtatious.

  How dare he? How dare he act like I was being unreasonable by closing the door on him? You don't just disappear one day and then show up three months later like nothing had happened.

  “Go to hell,” I shot back, moving into my living room, holding a hand to my chest. My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest, the frantic pounding making me feel nauseated.

  This literally could not be happening. I had just finally gotten over it. Well, not over it. But I was doing better. I was moving on. A lot of shit had happened since the last time I saw him. I had plenty of things to focus on beside what he did to me. About what an idiot I had been about him.

  I was pacing the living room floor when I realized something. I looked back at the door. I knew he was still there. Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew. “Give me my goddamn cactus back, asshole,” I yelled.

  There was the sound of a chuckle and it made my insides feel uncomfortably wobbly. And I got all the more angry with him. He wasn't allowed to have that power. Not anymore. “It's my cactus,” he called back.

  “You abandoned it,” I said. “So schoolyard rules come into play.”

  “You cant call 'finders keepers' on another person's property.”

  “It was in an abandoned apartment. So technically it didn't belong to anyone anymore. Besides, I bought it in the first place.”

  “Where's my skull planter?” he asked, ignoring what I had said. And it was every bit annoying as it used to be.

  “Smashed to splinters in an alley,” I shot back. “Hope you like pink and purple heart planters.”

  “In fact, I love them.” There was a pause, the lump in my throat was too hard to talk through. “Open the door, Fee,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. A voice that touched something deep inside that I had been trying to forget existed.

  “Go scratch at someone elses door, Hunter. You're not welcome here anymore. And don't fucking break in again.”

  I wrapped my arms around my middle that felt like it was falling apart. Like all my insides were going to fall out if I didn't hold them in.

  “Is this about your new boyfriend?” he asked, his voice with only the slightest edge to it when he said that word.

  I felt myself snort, shaking my head. He didn't have a right to be angry or jealous or... anything. He up and left. And, not for nothing, but he knew how fucked up I was. How damaged. He knew I was going into a situation that could have easily screwed me up worse. Then to get back and see him leave his “f-you” cactus in his empty apartment...

  I could have done something really, really stupid for all he knew.

  So if, instead, all I had done was go out and find myself a normal relationship... then good for me. And fuck him if he thought I had done something wrong.

  I wasn't about to tell him that Jake was just the new number fourteen. And was gayer than Christmas. He was attractive enough to be a threat to Hunter. So, good. Be threatened.

  “Never mind him,” I said, willing my voice to be calm. “This is about you being a coward.”

  “If you would just let me explain, Fee,” he said instead, sounding sad. As sad as I felt, in fact.

  “No,” I said, sliding open my balcony door. I didn't care that it was twenty degrees out and that I was barefoot. I just needed to get away. I was just barely holding it together. I needed to get away. “It's too late, Hunter,” I said, sliding the door and blocking out the sound of whatever he said.

  I lowered myself down onto the cold cement, wrapping my arms around my legs and rocking myself back and forth, trying to take some comfort in the motion. God damn it all. I thought things were okay. Settled. I thought I had found some kind of equilibrium.

  Now it just felt like it had felt right when I first knew he was gone. Like the swirling hollowness in my chest, like someone was ripping out the insides of my belly. Like I was falling fucking apart.

  A strange injured animal sound came out of my lips, halfway between a scream and a cry that had Jake's balcony door opening and stepping out, looking around. “Fiona?” he asked, sounding worried.

  “I'm fine,” I lied, closing my eyes tight against the tears but they streamed out anyway.

  “Fine? With a fine piece of man like that outside your door begging like a dog for a bone? I think not.” I saw him move toward the side of the balcony closest to mine, leaning against the railing and looking down at me. “Spill, neighbor.”

  I took a deep breath. “He's the former fourteen,” I told him.

  “And former... boyfriend?”

  “He wasn't my boyfriend,” I said automatically. That was a phrase I had said to myself all day every day like it was on repeat endlessly: he's not your boyfriend, he's not your boyfriend, he's not your boyfriend.

  “He seems pretty torn up for a non-boyfriend.”

  “He can rot in hell.”

  “Awe, Fee,” a voice said that had me jumping. “You don't mean that.”

  “Jesus! What the fuck?” Jake exploded and I knew where Hunter's voice was coming from: Jake's balcony.

  “Sorry, babe,” a third voice, unfamiliar broke in. “I thought you knew him. He was knocking on your door when I came up.”

  Jake's boyfriend. It must have been positively cozy over on that tiny balcony. I buried my face into my knees harder. I wasn't going to let him see me cry. No way.

  “Dude, get the fuck out of my apartment,” Jake said, sounding meaner than I thought he could.

  “Yeah, one sec, guys,” Hunter said. His voice held a mocking tone when he spoke to me again. “So it seems that your new boyfriend is gay.” I bit hard into my lower lip to keep from talking. Which would only lead to another argument. Also, he would know I was upset. “You're gonna get pneumonia sitting out here like this,” he reasoned.

  Like you'd care. “Just go, Fourteen.”

  “Fee...”

  “I think it's time to leave, bud,” Jake's boyfriend said and I sneaked a glance at him, big and burly. Jake had a thing for bears. He was just big enough to give Hunter a run for his money.

  “Fine,” Hunter said. “Fee...”

  “Now,” the boyfriend said again, holding an arm out toward the now open sliding door.

  Hunter sighed but went in through his old apartment. I heard the door to the hall close and let out my breath. “You sure you don't want to give him a second chance?” Jake asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  Nope. Not at all. “Yeah,” I said, getting to my feet. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.” I opened the door to my apartment, shivering in the cold. “Tell your boyfriend thanks for me.” And with that, I went straight for my razor blade for the first time in weeks.

  Twenty-Two

  I winced as I slid opaque black stockings up over the fresh cuts, cursing myself fiercely. Stupid. It was so incredibly stupid to backslide over something as pathetic and predictable as a broken heart. For Christ's sake. I used to do it because of my horror story worthy past. Because it was the only way to cope.

  And here I was slipping into old destructive habits over a guy? Seriously? How weak could I get?

  I hadn't left my apartment the whole day after he showed up. I worked out with Jake. The punishing, ass breaking two hour workout I had started after Hunter left. The workouts that replaced the endorphins I wasn't getting from cutting. The workouts that had made me drop perhaps a bit too much weight, but were a way for me to stay focused. To help me look forward instead of behind. To fall into bed too drained to even consider not sleeping.

  Then I had cooked. Taken a bunch of extra calls I didn't need to. Actually, I didn't need to take any calls anymore. But I needed to do something to occupy my time. My mind.

  It was two nights later, and I needed to get out of my apartment or I was going to go crazy. Besides, I hadn't heard from Hunter since Jake's balcony so
I figured I had gotten my point across.

  I pulled a red wine colored dress on and black boots, fixed my makeup, dried my hair. Then, with one slow, deep breath, I headed out for the night. The goal was dinner, a open mic at a coffee house, a drink at a bar, then home. I was not, absolutely was not, going to get drunk. Not even though oblivion sounded really, really good right now.

  That was until, of course, I opened my door to find a note pinned to it. I knew who it was from. And I had every intention of ripping it right up and dispensing of it in the dumpster outside the building. Yeah, that was the plan.

  But I had barely made it out the front door before I was opening it, the pit in my stomach growing by the minute.

  Fee,

  You have every right to hate me. I never would have left like that if I had a choice. Please believe me when I tell you I truly didn't. If you would just speak to me, I could explain everything.

  Hunt

  Explain what? Like how he couldn't find two minutes to call and tell me he was sorry? Or a text saying he had to go and he'll explain everything when he gets back? I could have accepted that. I would have taken any tiny scrap he fed to me. I would have made a fucking feast of it. But, no, he had chosen to starve me instead.

  I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash. There was no excuse for what he did. What? Was he chained in a fucking dungeon somewhere? Locked up? What could possibly explain not taking the time to call me? Nothing. Literally nothing. So he could take his explanations and shove them up his ass. Because I wasn't going to listen to them.

  Okay. So maybe I got a little drunk. And by “a little drunk” I meant fucking plastered. I was gone before we were anywhere near last call. I was so trashed, I was asking random strangers how drunk I was and laughed until I couldn't breathe at their words.