“Do you know the number of your boyfriend?”
I shake my head.
With a sigh, she stands up and slowly walks toward the small table next to the front door. Opening a drawer, she takes out a thick book and returns with it.
“Let’s see if it has the number we need.” She slips on her glasses that are hanging around her neck. They are red in color with an intricate designed frame. They match the color of her long gown.
“What’s his full name?”
“Heath Travon.”
She flips pages, diligently searching for his contact information as if she has it—which I highly doubt.
“Here it is,” she says, her finger pinned at his number.
I check for myself and sure enough his number is scribbled next to his name in a small cursive writing.
“How do you have his number?” I ask.
“I asked him for it.”
Before I can ask her about it,
“The phone is on the table. Go call him,” she says.
I hesitate for a moment, not sure if I want to involve him into this mess, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.
Despite my reluctance, I get on my feet and pick up the old phone.
Punching in the number, I press the call button.
Please pick it up.
Please pick it up.
Please pick it up.
“Hello,” his voice low and husky speaks.
I clutch the phone in both of my hands. A ball of nervous energy rolling into my stomach.
“Is someone there? If you don’t fucking speak up?—”
“Uh, Heath, it’s me,” I croak out, my nerves shaking.
Silence lingers for a second before he speaks, “Rose. Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your phone? Whose phone is this? What’s happening? Fuck. Is everything okay? I’m coming over right now.”
I stiffen. “No wait.”
“What the fuck happened?”
I bite my lower lip as tears gather in my eyes hearing his voice—it alone breaks my walls and I can’t keep it together. “Can you come get me? If it’s okay.”
“I’m already in my car.” The sound of the door closing filters in.
