Page 269 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Ti voglio bene. Sempre.”

Andrew stares at the phone in his hand long after the voice stops.

Then his thumb slips from the screen.

He doesn’t replay it or call her back. All he can do is sit there, skin shiverin’ in a soaked bucket seat as rain slices across the windshield.

And he exhales, shallow, shaky. It hurts to breathe.

He gave his ma part of himself, and she didn’t even have the courage to tell him this to his face. Now he sits worthless after goin’ down on two girls who didn’t give a fuck about him. After giving his mom a second chance at life, only for her to hand it right back.

Andrew wasn’t a man.

Not even a person.

He was just a body. That’s all he was.

A mouth. Hands. And a fucking liver.

Just pieces.

His head tips back against the seat, one tear spilling down his temple.

Another follows it, his chest heavin’, skin damp, cold, and shakin’.

Another tear slides down after, his shoulders shakin’, wishin’ he’d never left the house at all. Maybe if he sits here long enough… the lightning’ll finally take pity, strike once, clean through the windshield, and right through his chest.

The next song fades in low through the radio.

At first, he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Until the lyrics hit gentle, achin’, not pullin’ him up, but stayin’ with him, wrappin’ an arm around him. As if his own heart climbed out of his chest to sit beside him, takin’ his hand.

I’m right here. I see you. I got you.

You’re not alone. I swear to God, you’re not.

His teeth grind, and he wipes the next tear with the heel of his palm.

And still, the song keeps goin’. Not askin’ for nothin’, just stayin’ with him.

Until, eventually, his breath evens out. Until his hands stop shakin’.

Behind Closed Ribs flickers neon green across the dash.

He reaches for the dial.

And he turns it up.

51 / DAVID

LORDE

// DEC 13, 7:04 AM - PENTHOUSE - UPPER EAST SIDE, NYC //

HELL WEEK: FRIDAY, DAY FIVE, LAST DAY

People v. Andrew Harding