NECROMANTIC

twenty six.

I tried to call Rob twice on my walk back home. I mean I mostly did it because I wanted to speak to him, but I also did it so I wouldn't be alone with my thoughts as I walked.

The first time, it rang three times, before it went to the answer message – "Hello. You've reached 555-1212. No one can answer your call at the moment. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and your call will be returned as soon as possible. Thank you." He'd hung up the call on me.

The second time, it went straight to that same, irritating and polite message. He'd turned his phone off.

My hand tightened around my phone in a death grip, and the emotional part of me wanted to launch it at the nearest hard surface and watch it break, but the more rational side took control and made me lower it from my ear, lock it, and stuff it into my pocket.

He needed space. He'd told me that.

But, especially after what Marcus had told me, what had happened with Olivia... I needed him.

I considered going around to his, but I quickly shot that idea down – when you don't want to speak to someone and you need time away from them, showing up at their doorstep would be the worst thing you could do. I imagined Marcus showing up on my doorstep, after I told him to leave me alone until I said so, and imagined the way that'd make me feel.

I was a neurotic, stressed out, abnormal bitch, but I was also a fair person.

I stuffed my hands into my jean pockets, hoping I'd left a pair of headphones in them – heck, even the broken ones that only played sound in one ear would do – but there was nothing but my keys, my cell phone, and... a receipt. The one from the night at the Sisters, from the junk food Rob and I had bought. Any normal person would toss it into a trash can, or crumple it up, but I felt tears pricking my eyes as I looked at it, and I smoothed it and folded it neatly, putting it back into my pocket.

So much had changed since that night... Rob and I had had our first fight. He'd died. I resurrected him. Somebody, after all these years of me dealing with it alone, knew about me and what I could see... mounting evidence indicated that I, and others like (there are others like me!!) were being hunted down by a group of religious fanatics.

Yeah. For me, when it rains, it fucking pours.

So the rest of the way home, I kicked a rock, focusing my attention solely on the sound and way it skittered until it came to a stop and I made it skitter again. Not going to lie – it was oddly therapeutic.

I thought I was alone in the house when I came in, but I walked into the kitchen – and jumped when I saw my mom sat there, scrolling through her cell, her posture somewhat slumped...

Oh shit. I completely forgot.

"Hey mom..." I said softly, guiltily, taking a seat opposite her.

"Hey." She said in return, not looking up from her phone, her tone weary. "How's Mae?"

"Mom, I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's fine." She finally locked her phone and set it down, looking up at me and giving me the least convincing smile I've seen. "Besides," she turned away from me like she couldn't look at me for longer than necessary, not that I blamed her, and waved a hand further down the kitchen table where a whole new array of plants sat. "I got myself some new babies. I even got you one." She stood, and walked to where the plants were, sliding the pot of a pretty pink orchid toward me.

I eyed it, and looked further down, and pointed. "Thank you... but can I have that instead?"

Mom looked to where I was pointing and frowned, picking up the small cactus in the cheery little yellow and red pot. "I got this for the bathroom, but sure, I guess. Uh... why?"