Man Overboard

10. Solitude's a Reason to Die

I slept through most of Sunday. I woke up a few times, but I just closed my eyes and willed myself back to sleep. My body ached too much to get out of bed. Eventually I crawled out of bed after noon.

I immediately took a shower, wanting to clean myself of all the dirty acts from last night. I was in there for hours, letting the hot water mix with my tears as I sat on the tile floor clutching my knees to my chest.

Once I had scrubbed my skin three times, I returned to my room and got dressed. There was a small beep and I looked over to my cell phone, sitting on my desk. The small screen displayed a notification letting me know I had two new voicemails.

I flipped open my phone and listened to the messages, both from Tom.

"Hey, Willow!" Tom's happy voice came through the speaker. "It's Tom, which you probably already knew." He chuckled. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you were coming over today? Okay, um, call me back!"

I checked the time he had left the message. 11:36 A.M. I clicked on the next message, left at 2:53 P.M.

"Hey, it's me again." Tom laughed slightly, but I could hear the worry in his voice. "It's okay if you're not coming, I understand. Just call me, okay? Okay, bye."

I sighed. Part of me wanted to go over, just to see Tom's goofy smile and to feel safe, but it was already so late. I opened Tom's contact information and pressed the call button.

"Willow?" Tom answered after the first ring.

"Hi, sorry I missed your calls," I apologized. "I just got your messages."

"It's fine," Tom assured, relief in his voice. "I'm just glad you're alright. So are you coming over then?"

"Uh, I'm sorry. I can't. It's already three and I wouldn't be able to stay very long." It was true, but I was also worried about going out again after what had happened last night with my dad.

"Oh, that's okay," Tom replied, sounding disappointed.

"I'll come over tomorrow though," I promised.

"Cool," Tom said, perking up immediately. I could just picture him smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Thanks for calling, Willow."

"See you tomorrow, Tom." I hung up the phone, already feeling slightly better from just talking to him.

I sat on my bed and stared at the Peter Pan painting Tom had given me that now hung on my wall. I didn't really feel up to doing homework right then, even though I knew I would regret it later.

And I was right.

"Miss Hart, what's the answer to number seven?" Mr. Dixon, my pre-calc teacher, asked. I raised my head slowly to look at him instead of my blank notebook. I could feel my classmates' eyes on me and I let my auburn hair fall to partially hide my face.

"I don't know," I said softly. Mr. Dixon sighed heavily, accustomed to this routine.

"Did you not do the homework, Willow? Again?" I shook my head and looked back down at my desk, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Mr. Dixon called on someone else. I could hear snorts of laughter and scoffs from the people around me. I blocked the sounds out and doodled in my notebook. By the end of class I realized I had drawn Tom's white, sticker-covered guitar that he had used Saturday night. I shook my head for second, wondering why everything I thought about seemed to relate to him.

"Willow, can I speak to you for a moment?" Mr. Dixon called as I walked past his desk on my way out of the classroom.

I cringed, knowing nothing good could come from this. I turned around and faced him.