Frequencies

XLIV

SWIPE AND HIT PLAY FOR MUSIC!

Jordan's POV
•€•
April 1st

Maya finishes her sentence and my mind goes blank. This can't be right.

"Jordan...I'm sorry," she says. My heart plummets to my stomach. I hang up without a word. I look out the window of the plane and regret even flying in early to surprise her.

How can she face me after something like this?

What do I tell her?

She must be so angry and I'm sure most of that anger is directed towards me. Why wouldn't it be?

This is my fault. I took away something so precious from her.

I check my phone and she hasn't called or left any messages. I want to call her but I don't know how she'll react.

Or worst...if she'll even answer.

I look down at my hand and realize that I've been digging my nails into my palm. The reasoning because I don't have any pockets.

After looking up from my palms I realize that Bryson's lips are moving. They're moving but no sound is coming from them.

He begins to stand and like a tsunami, sound comes washing in.

"Jordan, cmon. What's wrong with you?" he asks. I look around and realize that almost everyone has left the plane.

I stand and Bryson gives me room to get my carryon from the overhead storage.

"J, you good?" he asks but I don't respond. I look away and follow the crowd to the exit. I feel like I'm floating as I walk.

She's been home for hours now. By herself I'm hearing. She didn't even let Maya stay with her.

I walk and walk until the cool LA breeze hits my face. Again...everyone seems to be talking but no one is making any sound.

I retrace my steps and find the terminal I parked my car in. Still floating until I feel a hand grab my shoulder just as I reach the car.

"Jordan, seriously, are you good? You've been acting weird since that phone call. What was that?" he asks. I feel so sick to my stomach.

"Later," I say before hopping into the car. I don't even know if he's still standing there or if he went into his car but I pull off anyways. Not the safest to be on the road with my head like this but the last thing I'll do is get into an Uber right now.

I drive and right before I get off on the exit home, my head begins to ring. The sound is overpowering.

I decide that home isn't where I want to be right now. It's too hard to face her. I pass the exit and take the next one instead.

I pull up to the gallery and just as I do, rain begins to pour. I suck my teeth and hop out anyways. I swear that when the worst things happen, they happen all together.

I head in through the back doors, avoiding trailing water through.

I enter my work room. My paintings are displayed all over but the only ones that make sense are the ones of her.

They always come out perfect. No matter the mood I'm in. The way her lashes curl...the way beauty marks decorate her collar bone...the way she smiles.

It reminds me of the fact that she can't be smiling right now. And it's my fault.

I don't even know what happened but I look down and find my fist right through one of my paintings. And then another.