Murder City

Chapter Nineteen

19 | Aurora Bennett

I hear Fletcher breathing heavily on the other end of the phone. The cold, night air forces itself into his lungs. "Promise me you'll be okay." I beg. I want him to be okay. Nothing will be the same if he isn't okay. It's the 7th of May now, he has been in the hospital for four days. I count the hours in my head everyday. I worry for the worst. One second, he'll be there, the next, he wont. I don't want to leave any unsaid things between us. Not now. 

Strangely enough, I don't know what I'd do without Fletcher.

The doctors told me he would recover. However, he may have a few nasty scars, along with a broken leg. The damage wasn't as bad as you'd think, luckily enough. The ambulance came quickly, and most of the damage was repaired. 

Fletcher keeps the long silence between us. I don't mind as long as he's breathing. I'll be honest, I still love him. I love him for the good he has. I love his ability to change and work on himself. I'll never love him romantically, in fact I haven't for a long time. Maybe I never did. But I still love him.

My room is dark, quiet, except for Billie snoring beside me. His arm is wrapped around my stomach, my right hand is pressed against it. I squeeze his arm, grateful for his unconscious support. My left hand is holding my phone to my ear, forcing me to listen to Fletcher's breathing. "I'll be okay, Ari." He tells me.

I sigh, relieved. I feel better now he's telling me. I didn't believe the doctors. I told myself I wouldn't believe anything until Fletcher told me himself. "My fucking leg is killing me, though." I laugh. He laughs too. Last time I saw him, his left leg was wrapped in a cast. The doctors told me he'd landed on it, the bone had snapped through his skin. It's recovering. I'm glad.

"You'll visit tomorrow, right?" He whispers. I hold onto this moment. I savor every moment I have with him because I don't know which moment will be our last. I will never forget the way he hurt me, the hurt that lasted throughout our 'relationship'. But I'm willing to stay civil. And, as far as I'm concerned now, that never happened. I have to be here. Not for him, but for myself. I have to convince myself that if my past is okay, that my future will be okay too.

I don't hate Fletcher. I can't bring myself to do that.

But I don't love him either, not like that anymore.

I'm comfortable with the relationship we have now.

"I can't tomorrow." That's all I say. He sighs. He's disappointed, but I can't be alone with him again. I've visited him everyday he's been in hospital. The first time, I had Billie behind me. But the other three times I was alone.

 I'd sit beside him on a metal chair. We'd hold hands. We'd talk. He'd apologize. I'd nod, acknowledging it. I'd leave. I come home. I cry in bed. Billie sits at the end of the bed, his hand on my body. Thats our routine. 

I feel broken, and I don't know why. I feel numb, but not the comfortable type of numb, which is what you might feel when you go to get an injection, and it doesn't sting like you expected. It's more of a feeling of emptiness, as if this endless cycle of something less is never ending. 

Cycles exist because the person stuck in it fears to break it. Who knows what will happen if you jump and don't land on your feet?

I hang up my phone.

I look at the case covering its natural beauty. The plastic under my fingertips is smooth, perfectly created to be mine. I take it off, revealing the original grey metallic of my phone. I flip it over in my hand, taking a look at the screen. I slip my fingernail under the edge of the screen-protector. I lift my finger up, the screen-protector peeling off alongside it. I bend the plastic in half with one hand, as if I'm bending a ruler. 

I keep going until it snaps in half. 

I let it drop to the floor, the pieces wedging their way into the fur of the carpet, waiting to be stepped on.

I lift my phone above my head. I swing my arm fully forward. I let my grip go. My phone slips into the air, floating it's way across the room. I imagine this is how Fletcher flew from his drivers seat. My phone hits the wall, creating a loud bang, with a crack. It thuds against the carpet. The resting spot.

I don't bother checking on it. 

"What did you do that for?" I turn and see Billie, sat up, rubbing his eyes. His mouth is slightly agape, his eyebrows almost touching. He looks at me, confused, then back to the direction of my phone, which I'm assuming is in pieces. Hopefully it will not be fixed. I hope the damage is irreversible. 

"Go back to sleep, Billie." I advise, putting my head onto the pillow, feeling the deep relaxation take over.