Transgression (Prequel #1)

21 - Desperate Reach

"Rachel?" He mumbled.

"Yes? Is this. . . is this Alex?" Her voice changed to cheerful, then shifted again to concern. "Its nine o'clock, is everything okay?"

Breathing through his slack jaw and puffy lips, he sighed. "No. . . Thin-gs are not. . . okay." He struggled to speak.

There was a brief moment of silence between them.

"You don't sound good, what's going on?"

He fumbled his words, "Is. . . any way, you can c-come over?"

"Come over? Alex its late, I have schoolwork to do."

"Please." He said clearly, his head resting against the wall. "It's, important."

Another quiet period; in which he glanced to the table and ogled at the gun, feeling it pull on him. She sighed.

"It can't wait until tomorrow? Maybe we can meet for lunch or something."

The ache in his heart applied pressure to his words, "I. . . don' know if I can get through t'night." His words were hollow, unarticulated.

He could hear her lift the phone away from her ear, hold it there, then bring it back.

"Okay." The indecision was clear, "Um, give me your address and I'll be there as soon as I can."

Overwhelmed with relief, he smiled through the dry tears.

"Thank god. . . it's two-for-"

"Hang on, let me get my notebook." She asked. A pause, "go ahead."

"Two-forty-Eight Morrigan Way. . . Apartment number seventy-eight." He finished.

". . . seventy-eight. Got it." Her words were low, tired.

"I'll leave my door unlocked."

"Alright. I'll be there soon. Just sit tight." Without a goodbye, she hung up the phone.

He let the phone rest in his stiff hand for a while longer, defeated in many ways, but that tiny spark of something more climbed its way back up his throat. Forehead pressed against the wall, he stared at the floor in a trance. He waited there for an unknown amount of time, wallowing in an empty mind, running in circles.

Finally, he released the phone and let the cord catch and dangle freely, swaying back and forth. He slowly dragged his feet back to the couch and plopped down on the hard cushion. Once sat, he reached for the bottle again and poured himself another shot. It didn't burn, unlike the rest. It went down smooth and the warm shiver that followed softened his tongue.

He waited in silence; tracking the blips of light that randomly phased through the darkness. With everything that has happened, the revelation of another world, the fragility of his own reality had revealed itself as such; fleeting. Enhanced by sorrow and booze, the most saturated fear ever felt kept making its rounds in his head. That he will end up all alone.

There was one hope, one thing he wanted to come of all this. In his current state, he believed now to be the most opportune time to express those desires. It made too much sense, as he waded through the icy river of minutes passing. Convinced, he watched the door.

Over an hour went by, and still he sat with a glass to be refilled over and over. The potent stench of alcohol permeated; soaking into his lips and the fabric which trapped his heat. Nearly asleep, his dead senses were flicked by the bony knuckle of fate.

A gentle thumping crept just outside his door; igniting the dull ember in his brain. A small stream of light from the hallway poured in as the door slowly creaked open.