Shattered

-UNKNOWN CALLER-

𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑
𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝟖)
𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 (𝟏𝟎)

             †

The blonde haired female stared at the phone in her hand, watching as the screen glowed to life with yet another incoming call—the vibrations tingling her palm—from an unknown ID. She swallowed hard, contemplation heavy on her shoulders as she thought about ignoring it for the ninth consecutive time. But curiosity was beginning to get the best of her, wondering who's been trying so adamantly to get in touch with her—except she knew better, saw enough stories circling over the years to be wary of every incoming phone call, read articles about the murders in the newspapers and online. It didn't help that a lot of her college classmates thought it was hilarious to make prank calls from their cell phones using a voice modifying app, trying to scare each other with the looming threat of a Ghostface attack, only to burst out laughing before they could even make it halfway through the call. She knew better to answer calls from people she didn't know, never bothered answering the door when somebody knocked—she was loving the 'leave at door' option on DoorDash so she didn't have to see or interact with the person anymore. It was just part of her generation, spiked with too much anxiety to be able to do the most mundane and simple things.

Finally, the phone stopped ringing, only for it to start vibrating all over again—the tenth call—and she knew she was going to kick herself in the ass for this, but—

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘨.

"Hello?" She muttered into the phone, voice tight with anxiety.

"Hello," a deep voice drawled out with the hint of a Boston accent. "Margot? Is that you? Hi, it's me Charlie—from the other night?"

"Uhhhh, no... no, this isn't Margot." She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in; relief flooding through her—though she was a little annoyed her roommate gave 𝘩𝘦𝘳 number to somebody she met at the bar, and rolled her eyes. "This is her roommate. I'm sorry."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed and she felt a little bad for the guy, but only a small pang of sympathy, like the size of a baby seamonkey. "Wow, i feel pretty dumb now... I 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 I should have called the number to make sure she gave me the right one before she left."

"It's okay," she tried softly. "Don't feel too bad, alright?"

"I just couldn't believe my luck, you know? Somebody as pretty as 𝘩𝘦𝘳 talking to 𝘮𝘦 at the bar? It's astronomical." He continued on, and she could hear the sadness—the hopelessness—in his voice. And boy, did she understand his plight.

"I know how you feel," she insisted, thinking of her own friendship with her roommate. She and Margot had met two years ago when she first started college at Columbia when they'd partnered up for an assignment, and at first she was a little intimidated by this beautiful dark-haired girl from California, a girl that everybody seemed to love and was both the nicest and meanest person she knew. She could hardly believe Margot wanted to be friends with somebody like 𝘩𝘦𝘳 and was flabbergasted when Margot suggested they get an off-campus apartment together (paid for by Margot's rich CEO father, of course) but was quick to accept the offer. But two years into their friendship, and Alana still felt invisible whenever she and Margot were together, that nobody would ever notice her the way they did her friend. She felt ugly and frumpy compared to Margot, to this day.

"Really?" He asked doubtfully, pulling Alana out of her thoughts.

"Yeah," she breathed out a small huff, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I still can't believe me and Margot are friends," she admitted, though she wasn't entirely sure why she was telling this to a complete stranger—or maybe she did.