MICHAEL
It's been a week since I've seen or heard from Kate. Christmas is a week from today, but I've avoided all of my mother's calls; I am not in a celebrating mood. I haven't done anything that I was supposed to do this month for work, but the paychecks keep coming, further solidifying my belief that my dad only keeps me on the payroll because I am his son.
That should irritate me, but most of my emotions these days are extremely dull. I don't go out much; there is nowhere for me to go and it's too cold anyway. There is a convenience store within walking distance, where I can buy alcohol and Pop Tarts, which is all I need.
Today I walked there to buy Tylenol, the only thing I can find to cure my morning hangovers. It is freezing, but the air on my face reminds me of Kate, of the way her hair would blow in the wind and her cheeks would turn pink with cold. If I stare at the sidewalk, I can imagine that she is there with me, arm looped through mine and rambling about something that doesn't really matter. But it matters to her, so it matters to me.
I can almost hear her laughing as the wind whistles in my ears, but it's just an illusion.
When I push through the building doors and into the lobby, I head straight for the stairs. The elevator is working again, but I pretend not to notice. If I take the stairs, I have something of an excuse to pass by Kate's door. Though if she ever caught me, that excuse would fall flat.
My heart always beats a little faster when I reach her floor, when I turn down her hallway for the staircase right across from her door. But today, my heart accelerates and then stops before picking up in double time. The door to Kate's apartment is cracked open, but it's dark inside. My blood freezes in my veins, colder than the temperature outside.
With everything that's gone on lately, I've managed to completely forget about all of my concerns for Kate's safety. But right here and now, it's all I can think of.
"Kate?" I call, as soon as I can find my voice. There's no answer, not that I expected there to be. I rush forward, choosing to knock on the open door just in case.
When there is no answer, I step in as calmly as possible, my heart beating in my throat as I reach for the light switch that I know is on the wall.
I nearly crash to my knees at the sight before me.
I don't know what I was expecting, but it surely wasn't this. The light kicked on in the living room of the apartment-or what used to be the living room. It can't be considered a living room if there's no one living in it.
My chest is heaving up and down with near gasps of disbelief-she's gone. All of her stuff-her furniture, her books, her belongings-everything is gone. I stand in the middle of an empty room that used to feel like a refuge from my mistakes. Now it only serves as a relic, a reminder of my greatest mistake.
I take a few more steps into the apartment, like if I go further everything will suddenly reappear and it will be as if she never left. But it doesn't work that way, the more steps I take, the less and less I feel her. I turn into the empty kitchen, heart aching at how perfectly my memory has preserved it and how different it is now. There are no personal touches, no more traces of Kate's life. Everything here is generic, normal, impersonal. It's just counters and tabletops.
For some reason, I pull open a drawer in the island counter, hoping to find something. Anything. A stack of fucking post-its for all I care, just something of hers. But it's empty, they are all empty. My hands feel around the top cabinets, looking for anything she might have left. On top of the refrigerator, my fingers encounter something small, cold, and metal.
