Call Out

Amber Woodard

"Seraphina, my dear, how have you been?" Andy's warm smile lights up as I enter the room. He sits comfortably, hands resting on the sofa's grey arm, his presence commanding nearly two-thirds of the couch. He clicks on the remote, flicking past channels until he finds something desirable. The wooden end table holds a stack of marking papers, a task he despises and believes ages him by at least a decade by the time that he's done.

Not a single person calls me by my middle name except for Andrew; Seraphina is kind of an odd middle name to have actually.

Adrea. He's always been one of my favourite clients, and we practically live under the same roof, with me coming over at least five days a week. I'm not the best at my 'job', but he doesn't mind. I'm not suggestive, I'm not sexy, I'm just someone. But as long as he pays, I'm covered.

I try to force a smile, then sit on the edge, allowing Andy to rest his legs on my lap. He hasn't changed out of his dress shirt, and underneath the red tie, my eyes trace the outline of a sleeveless shirt wrapped against his olive skin.

"Yeah, not bad at all."

Andy playfully runs his fingers through his hair, causing his fauxhawk to wrap around his index finger, reminiscent of the delicate swirls on freshly baked brown meringue. He plucks the navy suit draped over the armchair, rises from his seat and mutters something about water. He ambles across the living room, hangs his blazer on a wooden rack, and pours himself a glass of water, resting it on the smooth marble benchtop. The screen remains stagnant on an unexpected Romeo and Juliet movie with its hundreds of iterations to come after Shakespeare's permanent mark on this world. Romeo pleads his love for Juliet from underneath the balcony. Stupid.

"So, are you ready to get started or what?" Andy calmly questions, picking up the glass for another sip; his eyes darts, scanning my facial expressions. I feel like he still suspects that I'm not over it yet, but he naturally chooses to ignore it, because ignorance is bliss. Why else would I voluntarily come here so often? It sounds like he's doing my job when I put it that way.

Adrea. He's not a bad person; believe it or not, he was one of the most important faculty members of a local high school. Funny reminder of my own time there then.

I nod, shifting my expression into a faint smile.

Andy takes off his tie, unravelling — undressing. His belt buckles, the faint sound of metal clicks as he unzips his pants, tossing all of his clothing on the armchair opposite to me. I do the same, draping the black blazer over the sofa. His lips are on mine, they're soft and the tingly sensation I'm very much used to warmly washes over my occupied mind. He grabs ahold of my hand, pulling me into the vacant bedroom. The king-size bed remains untouched, unmade from my last visit two days ago. Without me there, it's amusing to imagine how he manages to even fall asleep alone on such a wide, lonely bed.

Andy picks up the blanket, softly casting it aside and onto the carpeted floor. He lets his head rest on his arm, slouching comfortably on the magnolia bed frame, gesturing for me to join him. Andrea playfully flicks my forehead and chuckles. I pretend to sulk, playing along. His skin is warm with a tanned olive, and his chest is muscular, an indication of his regular workouts. Andrea nods at me with a smile, and I can't help but ruffle his soft hair. His hands freely speak and I let him take over, burying my face into the fluffy pillow, sex is easier that way.

It's midnight when I emerge from his room, dishevelled and half-clothed. Andrea sends me the usual payment, letting me use the showers first. I step out, feeling a bit drowsy and flushed in sweat. The television and window remain on, letting in a cool gust of wind. I stumble to the window, staring outside; it's already pitch black. The screen no longer streamed the sappy love story but now a gritty crime film, 'The Godfather' — the idiot used to love that film.

I twist the knob of the awning window, closing it and then similarly flick the screen off with a simple click of the remote. I unlock the specific drawer with only my things in it and retrieve a comb. Then in the wardrobe, I grabbed the spare sets of clothes I'd left over; the silky nightgown glimmered under the moonlight.

How long has it been since Pabs left?

I try not to think about it.

The luminescent bathroom lights flicker a warm orange; I hang the towel to the side and sorely step inside the cubicle. The showerhead flushes a warm downpour of water onto my spine, washing away the stress and the scent of sex. I let the moisture soak into my hair before thoroughly scrubbing it with gel-like shampoo, then the conditioner. I watch the soapy water stream down the drain, slip-sliding through an attracting force that is the cyan square tiles. Even after finishing, I mindlessly stood inside the cubicle for another few minutes, my mind blank and foggy with steam. I dry myself with a fresh towel, soaking up the dampness from my long hair.

Three months maybe, since then.

The room suddenly feels uncomfortably crowded; my ears redden to the sensitivity, and I even detect the insensitive warm gust of air from the ventilation. Fumbling at the basin, I aimlessly flick on the metal tap, watching the water gush out.

What an idiot.

I cup my palms together, containing the vessel. I splash the cool liquid on my face, a sensation of reality washing over me; droplets get tangled in the blond.

I study it. The mirror mimics my every reflection, and on the other side, I see somebody with trembling shoulders, broken and strangled in tears.

It all happened too soon.

The hospital called at nine o'clock on that fateful evening, and I was at Andy's as usual. Her monotonous voice left me paralysed; she told me to stay calm as she broke the sad news. The nurse on the other end solemnly informed me that my brother, Pablo, had no chance of survival. That they had already moved his corpse to the mortuary, all scorched and burnt.

The nurse sounded fine, and so did I.

No tears, nothing.

My brother who would chastise me was really gone.

This wasn't the first time I've lost someone close.

The burial came along in all black, and here I am, fine.

I'm fine.

I'm really fine.

Don't you worry one bit.

I realise now that imitation can only take you so far.

It's quiet now.

Pablo was stupid, an idiot...

A stupid, stupid, idiot.