I was weak. Pathetic.
I hated so much about myself.
I never went to pick her up. I stayed at home, curled up in my own self-hatred. Despising all that I was and all that I had been.
I didn’t call her. I didn’t text. I left her wondering. Waiting.
Because I was a coward.
A sick, masochistic coward.
Memories unleashed their wrath as the rain splattered against the windows. Phantoms I couldn’t keep away crept inside and wrapped around me, refusing to let go.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t shut them out.
All I could do was sit in the corner of my bedroom, my back against the wall, my head in my hands and die inside—all over again.
And I did. A thousand times until morning. Each as painful as the first.
The night was long and hard. And I had left Layna waiting. I should have called. I should have explained.
But how do you explain a meltdown?
How did I tell the girl I was finding myself completely consumed by that my past had come back to slaughter me?
When the sun finally rose, I was still backed into the corner of my bedroom, my head in my hands. My eyes heavy and gritty with lack of sleep. I slowly got to my feet and stretched. My joints popped and my muscles strained from being sedentary for so long.
I looked out the window and watched the light bounce off the water. Right now it was peaceful. The only traces of the storm were a few broken tree limbs.
And the heavy weight in the pit of my stomach.
I picked up my phone where I had dropped it on the floor many hours before and turned it on.
No texts.
I frowned and scrolled through my saved messages. They were all gone. As though they had never been there.
My throat felt tight and my head fuzzy.
Even worse, there was nothing from Layna. She had never called.
I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, avoiding the mirror. I didn’t want to see my reflection.
I knew what I’d see.
Nothing.
I didn’t bother changing my clothes. I tugged on my boots and grabbed my car keys, stepping out into the brand new morning.
The birds were quiet. There were never many around the quarry. I had noticed in my first days there that the wildlife seemed to give this place a wide berth. I never worried about the raccoons getting in the trash or snakes coming in through the windows.
They stayed away.
My heart was the only one that beat in this solitude.
I got in my car, drove out to the main road, and headed for town. I had the day off but had planned to go into the studio anyway. I wasn’t a man content with down time.
But things changed. And there was somewhere else that I needed to go.
Ten minutes later I stood outside of Layna’s door, my palm pressed to the wood, my head bowed low. I should knock.
She never called.
“Are you looking for Layna?”
I looked up to find an older woman coming down the stairs. Another woman that looked to be about my age was just behind her.
“Yes. Is she home?” I asked.
The older woman was carrying a plate of cookies wrapped in pink cling film. The younger woman gave me a shy smile. One I didn’t bother to return. I was standing outside of Layna’s door. I was incapable of flirting.
“She should be. She doesn’t work today. I’m Debbie Statham, her neighbor. And this is my granddaughter, Chloe. She’s visiting from New York. She lives in the city. Works at that store, Sak’s on Fifth Avenue.” I didn’t understand people that felt comfortable with sharing life stories to complete strangers.
As if their words were worth saying.
Chloe, the granddaughter, looked embarrassed. I didn’t blame her. She flushed a pretty red.