My hands reach back into the brown paper bags on my kitchen counter to gather the rest of the groceries, my eyes lifting to glance at the entryway for the millionth time in the past 10 minutes because Sophia still hasn't returned.
How long does it take someone to find their phone?
It's dark out, way past midnight at this point, and my body itches to race down and join her to make sure she's safe. But I stop myself with the reminder that I cannot be attached to her at every second. It was one of the things her therapist had recommended she try in order to find self-independence. Her entire life, she had been clinging to everyone as a way of co-dependency and she needed to understand that she never needed anyone else. She's only ever needed her.
I try to reason myself with logic as I stacked the packs of strawberries in the fridge, forcing myself not to look at the door again. It's dark out, I remind myself, which means it'll take her some time to rummage through the mess that is her car.
Her shoulder bag, one which I bought for her the other week, lays on its side with the zipper undone and contents spilling out of it. Her wallet, her small bottle of perfume, hand lotion–the general works. I walk over to it to sit it up, her pepper spray falling out in the process making me tense slightly.
While pepper spray is illegal in Canada, Sophia still carries one around to ease her paranoia. Her PTSD has made it hard for her to defend herself in every situation, sometimes her body freezing and locking up on its own accord, and so having this small illegal bottle of liquid keeps her calm.
My hand closes around the bottle, trying to take a deep breath in as I tersely shove it back inside her bag and zip it close.
Five more minutes. I'm giving her five more minutes and then I'm down there.
Fuck. I run my hands through my hair, fiddle with the necklace around my neck, and try to busy myself with tossing the paper bags in the recyclable bin and wiping the counter down yet nothing seems to lift the nausea growing in my stomach. Something feels wrong, and despite my logical brain trying to defer me from anything rash I push my phone in my pocket anyway and stuff my feet in my converse, unrelenting of tying the shoelaces and stumbling to lock the door.
There was no point in calling her when I knew her phone was most likely dead, the percentage at 5 the last time she checked which was well over an hour ago when she connected to the aux of the car so we could listen to her carefully curated playlist.
My mind seems to be going a mile a minute with all of the possibilities that could have happened to her in the minutes I wasn't there with her.
She's fine, I try to convince myself again. I just need to see her with my eyes, hold her with my hands, and hug her until we both lose the ability to breathe. The elevator seems like forever to come and I mutter fuck it before dashing to the stairs.
The sound of my shoes slapping against each step as I race down, my shoelaces whacking my calf and heart in my throat as I make it to the ground floor. I run out the side door leading straight to the parking lot at the back of the building, rushing over to where she last parked her car and abruptly stopping when I see the space empty.
There is no reason she'd leave without letting me know. No reason why she would re-park her car or take a long drive when it's past twelve am.
My mind seems to be playing tricks on me so instead, I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight, ducking in and out through the cars to try and find her.
"Sophia?" I call out, hesitant. "It's Dean. You were taking so long that I..." The light catches on something red on the ground and my eyes widen, body stiffening as I shift my phone so I can see it better.
Fuck...no.
I crouch down, look at it closely because this isn't true. That isn't her blood streaking the concrete red. She's safe and sound back in our apartment and I missed her while taking the stairs.
I stand up, now running through the parking lot and calling out her name. It isn't big and I seem to be running in circles, praying I missed her and she's laughing and hiding in between one of the cars in order to scare me. That the red on the ground is ketchup and not her blood.
She isn't hurt, she couldn't be.
"Sophia! Where the fuck are you, baby? Sophia!"
I'm ducking in between cars, looking around frantically for someone I know isn't there and I feel my eyes start to well with frustrated and heartbreaking tears.
"Sophia! Just answer me, Sweetheart. Just say something. Please."
My love, my girl, my sweetheart is gone and I should have gone down with her. I should have been by her side always. I should have bought her a new goddamn fucking phone so we could have spent our last remaining weeks of school studying and watching shows and cooking in the safety of our home.
My eyes catch onto a glint on the floor and my walking fades off as I near it, the tears that were once held back with hope disintegrating as I touch the thin chain of the necklace that was once mine, now broken with the ring I had given her halfway off the chain.
I pick it up in my hands, clutch it to my chest and fall down to my knees as I bring out my phone and dial the number of the cops that handled Sophia's exam when she first wanted to place a restraining order against the fucker that broke my girl.
"Hello, this is officer Layla speaking."
"Hi," I responded, voice hoarse to my own ears. "This is Dean Davis. I don't know if you remember me but I came to the station a couple of months ago with my girlfriend Sophia. You had–"
"I remember. The restraining order case, right? What seems to be the problem Mr. Davis?"
"He took her." I force out, the tears streaming down my face harder. "He took her and I don't know where my girl is and I don't know what to fucking do and I need your help–"
"Alright, Dean. You did a good job calling me. I need you to walk me through what happened, I'll dispatch some officers to your house. We'll find her, don't worry."
My hand clutches harder to the necklace in my hands, the ring cutting into my skin as I hang my head in defeat and reiterate the last few terrifying moments as I sit alone on the dimmed parking lot floor.
- - -
"The number you have called is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later."
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"The number you have called is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later."
•••
YOU ARE READING
Pessimist
Romance[01/07/2021] - [13/04/2023] "You can't keep going around like a fucking maniac and treating me like shit. That isn't how relationships work," Sophia's voice was havoc as she verbalized her emotions. "That isn't how we work..." Tired, vulnerable an...
