Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 63

Axel

They put me in an interrogation room, not a cell. I sit down on the chair and put my head on the table. I don't care. I don't care about anything. I just want to hear his voice again. Because I hate the feeling inside me. I hate it. 

It's rage, burning up inside me and I can't make it stop. Not without him. I just need to talk to him. I need him to call me Stitches and tell me not to get myself killed. But I can't. I can't even remember what his hands felt like on my face. 

Why not? Why is he so completely gone from that even the memories of him are slowly vanishing? Why didn't he stay here? 

I'm supposed to be talking to him. He's supposed to hear me. I need him here. I've always needed him here. This world holds no meaning without him in. All there is left is motions.

 And planning how I'll die. 

I have nothing here with which to take my own life. I tried at the house, there were knives. Brianna stopped me said we had to go to the hospital and see how bad it was. I knew. I knew how bad it was. But I am glad I got to hold him one more time. They should have left him in our bed. He was safe and warm there I don't like where they were trying to put him it was cold. He didn't like to be cold.

I need him. I need a plan. I need a plan to get me to him. It's well that I can stay for now. I'll stay and kill he that did it. I will. That's the only purpose I have left to serve I think. I can't think of another. There was no other reason for being except to look upon his face. Such a strange act in our tale. That he should not be in it.

I can hear his voice. I can hear it again—if only for moment. To remind me of it.

"Hey---assholes, I get one fucking phone call," I say, slamming my fists on the glass.

"Yeah, you also have legal counsel, you sent them away," Reynolds says, coming in, "What did you do to your arm?"

"What arm?" I ask.

"Your arm is bleeding, Axel—have you been cutting yourself? With what?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about I get one phone call," I say, folding my arms. My left arm is bleeding, I was cutting myself with the fishhook from my necklace.

"Axel, your arm is freshly bloodied and your sweater."

"No. It's always been like that, one phone call," I say, snapping my fingers.

"Do you want me to call your lawyers again?"

"Nope, do not want to talk to them," I say, as she and a couple of uniformed cops who don't lift (I do) escort me to the crappy phone.

"Do you need to look at your phone?" she asks.

"No, why?" I ask, picking up the phone and figuring out how to use it. Dial 9 for out the note says.

"Because you're under thirty I figured you wouldn't know your contacts actual numbers," she says.

"I do," I say, flatly. Of course I know his number. It rings seven times.

This number you have tried to call is no longer in service

I scream in rage and throw the phone across the room, hitting someone on the head. Then I break the chair for good measure before they restrain me. I flip out of my sweater and attack the wall while they cuff me.

"No," how could they cancel his phone??? No. They need to put it back I need it. His voice is there. I need to hear his voice.

"You were cutting your arm----'stitches' yeah you're gonna need some," Reynolds sighs, as they drag me back to the room. 

When they let me go I crawl under the table to sob. 

"Do I need to search you or are you gonna stop hurting yourself?"

I bite my hand to stop from sobbing, biting down until I feel blood.

"Is that a no?"

"No, that's all I needed to write," I whisper. His Stitches. Why did he call me that? He wouldn't tell me. I need to hear him say it. It's in his voicemail message. Leave a message after the tone, Stitches please stop filling up my voicemail box you can text me. I can't hear him say it though. I need to hear him say it.

No I don't. I need him. And he isn't here anymore. I just need him though. This is the one thing that couldn't happen. It's like my chest is hollow. I'm empty now. There's no hope of joy left inside my mind. Nothing but sadness, and anger. 

Worse for them. It was all right when I lay with him and could feel his chest and pretend he was still breathing. At least I had that. Now I have nothing. Nothing but the floor and biting my own hands to stop from screaming. Why hurt myself though? Why not just scream?