Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,8
funeral tomorrow?
The second Tanner closes the door, Aspen’s hand covers mine. “Felicity, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I was completely out of line tonight, talking about you and Tanner. I was only trying to distract you from—”
“My dead brother?” That sounded harsher than I intended.
Her hand tightens around mine and tears rush from her eyes. “Dammit,” she shouts. “I’m so insensitive. I can’t bear to see you in this much pain. And I don’t know what to say to make you feel better. I intended to cheer you up tonight, but I think I went about it the wrong way. Can you forgive me?”
Nothing is going to bring Blake back. Nothing is going to make me feel better. “Thanks for trying. Honestly, I appreciate you being here for me.”
Our five-minute car ride was silent. We hike up the three flights of stairs to her apartment and walk inside. The usual mess is scattered about. Messes cause me panic attacks, and I have to believe she hasn’t noticed the smell from the dirty dishes or the overflowing trash.
I want to clean so badly right now.
“Sorry…I didn’t straighten up this morning,” she says nonchalantly. The fact that she isn’t embarrassed makes me wonder what’s wrong with me. I could never leave my house without cleaning it, just in case someone popped in unannounced. I would be mortified if they saw mail everywhere or an empty pizza box on the counter. I suppose it would be easier to not worry so much about living neatly, but it’s always given me a kind of comfort, too.
“Hang on; let me grab some sheets for you and clear out the spare room real quick.”
“Anywhere is fine, really. You’re already putting yourself out for me.”
She shoos me off and dashes into the spare room. I hear a few things crash, and she returns with a crumpled ball of sheets. “Sorry they’re not folded.” She laughs. “I must be the only twenty-four-year-old who doesn’t know how to fold a fitted sheet. They should seriously come with an instruction manual.”
“They’re tricky.” I join in her laughter, more forced than natural. I miss everything that was me. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
I wrap my arms around her neck, pulling her in for a hug. “Thank you for all of this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Realizing this scares me.
I still haven’t told her the one thing that will most definitely make her hate me.
CHAPTER THREE
SLEEP DOESN’T COME. It hasn’t for the past week. I don’t even feel tired, and I don’t have a desire to close my eyes. It’s been an hour since Aspen’s lights went off. I heard her crying for a few minutes, but now it’s silent. I didn’t realize she was taking this so hard. I’m not sure. Either way I hope she doesn’t hear me leave.
I need air. I snatch her keys from the coffee table and slip out the door, locking it behind me.
My only focus as I walk is the seductive white stick I pull out of my pocket. With trembling hands, it takes me a second to steady the lighter, but within moments of my first drag, I fall heavily against a nearby tree. My desire for these things has grown exponentially since the fire. In the past, I’ve been able to satisfy my need with one cigarette at the end of each day, but now I find myself daydreaming about them from the time I wake up. Not a great sign.
My heart rate slows, and I feel almost human again. While debating whether or not I should go back into the apartment, I stomp the butt out and pop a couple pieces of gum into my mouth. I don’t want to go back. Not yet. I keep walking until I end up at a small, unlit park—it’s the perfect place to be alone.
The muted tones of the night pull me toward a little fountain, situated between a thick group of trees, and I find a bare spot in the grass to lie down.
I used to lie in the grass at night, watching the stars, remembering what Gran always told me. The sky is a two-way mirror; us on one side, and our loved ones that have passed on the other. They’re in the stars, and they’re able to look down and watch over us. Gran left me when I was only twelve; I’ve made it a habit to