Blackmailing The Untouched

One Is The Loneliest Number

Dad has pretty much kept his distance since Mom’s anniversary. We even ate in silence when we had our special dinner that night. Mom’s favorite: spaghetti and meatballs with extra meat. I tried to start conversations to lighten the foul mood, but he deflected every attempt.

It feels like we're drifting further apart, and I don’t know what to do about it. If I can do anything, that is. He is still shutting me out. He's still moping around the house even after promising to do better.

It's not just about Mom’s Aanniversary, he is keeping something important to himself, I can sense that he has other things on his mind whenever we talk or pass each other in the house—which hasn’t happened a lot lately. He makes sure to stay late at the station, calling almost every evening to tell me not to wait up.

I haven't spoken to Toby for three days either. I've just been holed up at the house binge watching old episodes of "New Girl" and eating microwave dinners.

The clothes have begun to pile up in the laundry room, there is at least three loads there that need folding. I've gone through five magazines and read them all more than once. The floors are riddled with dirt specs and footprints. The dishes are stacked in the sink.

And by the fourth day, absolute boredom sets in, and I'm desperate to get out of the house. I lock up and head outside to where my jeep is nicely parked. After three days of going back and forth with the Towing company, Dad was finally able to get them to tow it and have it dropped off. I guess it pays to be the Sheriff's daughter.

There is a slight breeze to the afternoon air, so I make sure to wear my favorite brown zip upzip-upd sweatshirt.

Normally, I would be on my way to see Toby because his usual day off is always Wednesday. However, we still haven't said a word to each other since that night.

I want to reach out to him, but I just don't know how. What am I supposed to say? Oh, sorry I led you on, but do you want to hang out? It seems a little blunt. Plus, the phone works both ways. If he's not going to try then, why should I?

I wonder what Sally is up to? Maybe she'll want to get together and save me from this boredom—

But I didn't get her number.

Just as I'm giving in to the reality that I have nowhere to go, my cell phone rings in the passenger seat. When I pick it up and turn it over, a number I don't recognize flashes on the screen. I'm hesitant when I connect the call.

"Hollie?" I hear a chirp on the other end. Sally's typical happy tone fills my ear.

"Sally!" I exclaim. I'm shocked that she is on the phone. Telepathic, maybe? "I was just thinking about you!"

"Yeah, I called your Dad at the station and asked for your number." She fills me in in only that bubbly way that she knows how to.

"That's cool. What's up?" I say. It is so easy to fall into a conversation with her.

"I'm off today and tomorrow, but I'm having a party at my apartment tonight with some friends. It'd be cool to have you there as well." She says, and I know she is smiling on the other end. "Now, before you say no, my Landlord lives in the house, so It won't get too wild." She giggles.

Parties are not usually my idea of fun, but with the last few days I've had and the upcoming dreaded "I dropped out of College" talk that is just around the corner with Dad I do feel like I need a night to be with some people to take my mind off from it all.

A night hanging out at Sally's place sounds very enticing to me. I've only got a few more days of freedom left before Dad starts asking questions about why I haven't begun packing to return to school for the new semester. I might as well live it up while I can.

"Sounds good, actually." I waste no time in answering.

"Seriously?!" She squeaks.

Every night we had off together from work, she always tried to get me to go out with her and some friends, but time after time, I always refused. I know she's shocked to hear me agree so quickly. No coercion necessary.

"Yeah, I think it'll be good for me." I respond.

"That's so awesome!" She sings enthusiastically. "I'll pick you up around seven."

"Sounds good. See ya then, Sal." I say and then end the call.

What to do until seven?

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, take a hefty swallow, and make my way back into the living room. I toss the bottle onto the couch and walk to the countertop to connect my phone to the bluetooth speaker there. I scroll through the many playlists I have on the device until selecting the one titled, "Cleaning jams." After hitting play on the dock, the first song starts and gets me motivated to clean.

I head upstairs to change into a pair of navy leggings and a loose-fitting fluttery shirt that drapes on one side. Taking the stairs back to the Livingroom, I quickly throw my dark hair into a high ponytail on the top of my head.

When I have the four laundry baskets full of clean clothes, I push them down the hall one at a time until they are all placed near the couch. I'm shouting at the top of my lungs to the lyrics of Paula Abdul's "Straight Up" as I pick up a pair of jeans from a pile and begin folding. As the music plays on, I fold jeans, shirts, and shorts, but I leave Dad's socks at the bottom of one basket. Once I've folded the final shirt, I take another drink from the bottle. It's nearly half gone already.

Before I grab the mop in the kitchen, I turn on the box on the wall, and the speaker turns on, directing the music into the room and out of the living room. I pull out the mop bucket from the side closet and mix the soapy water. I begin a side to side motion with the mop on the dainty white tile, mopping around the chairs, underneath the table, and the island. The area around the sink and refrigerator have had a lot of traffic, so I really have to dig down deep and really scrub the floor. Back and forth, I scrub, feeling my forearms straining and the breath in my chest becoming cold. It hurts a little to breathe. After giving the floor a final scrub, I wipe the sweat away from my forehead and sit down at the table to relax for a moment.

I glance over at the clock on the stove and see that it is four-thirty. Cleaning sure does make time fly.

A song fades out, and when the next starts, it is fast and heavy. I pause for a minute after one of the bells in the song sounds as though the doorbell has just gone off. I walk to the wall to pause the music. When the music is silenced, I hear the chime go off once more.

It's the doorbell.

Maybe Sally decided to make an early trip?

However, when I open the front door to see Zach standing before me, I'm surprised. He's wearing a dark brown t-shirt with light blue denim jeans, and his face gives nothing away when I greet him, but his eyes imprison mine, orbs of ice stealing the breath from my lungs.