Oblivion

Chapter Five

Nova

Some people believed in God granted miracles, heaven and hell, that general realm of conjectures. Others believed in Darwinism, the science of evolution and medicine, things they could see, adhering to the saying of "seeing is believing." The only thing I believed in at this point was survival.

For some particular reason, Harry's minute comment had struck a nerve, invigorated the blood flowing in my veins. My skin felt hot and flushed underneath my cheeks, the temperature of the atmosphere scaling the thermometer with every passing second. Not even the occasional gust of wind managed to suppress the urgent need inside of me to escape humanity as soon as possible. It wasn't that I was overwhelmed with an abundance of rage or anger. I felt relatively calm given the present circumstances. The only underlying problem fell right into the fact that I couldn't distinguish the differences between all of the emotions swelling inside of me. One second, I was consumed with a six feet wave of irrationality, the next I felt the most abhorrent need to cry. I shrugged off the frustration and swallowed the massive lump trying to make a residence for itself in the back of my throat.

My facial features twitched as I felt a wet drop of moisture roll from the corner of my eye down my cheek. There was not a single girl in the world that did not hate the idea and action of crying. Whoever invented tears and sadness was a bored bastard.

Wiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I forced myself to pull it all together before I crossed the main part of campus. It would have been a disaster if I stumbled into anyone. Walking past the Commons was a nightmare after six, especially when students were rushing out of halls like their lives depended on them being at the next big social event. Apparently some sorority was "secretly" hosting a kegger down the street, a secret that spread like flames across the entire Brixton campus. I suppressed the first thought that crossed my mind about a particular someone who I didn't want to be thinking about.

As if everything weren't already a muddled mess, I found myself scrambling through my bag for my phone when I heard the distinct ringtone reserved for someone who hadn't called for months or left a message since I had arrived at my new life.

My hands dug ferociously through my bag for the rectangular screen. It was only when my fingers latched around my phone that it stopped ringing. When I pulled the phone out of my bag, the words "one missed call from Dad" flashed in my face.

"Damn it," I cursed. "This wasn't how it was supposed to go."

I found a bench outside my dorm building, sat down, and contemplated my actions. The only reason I called back was because my heart ached more than I wanted, even though I was furious deep down beneath the masked layer of hurt.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered. On the other line, I could hear the incessant chatter bustling in the background. Wherever my dad was, it was incredibly busy.

"How about another one, James? You haven't been here in years. One more won't hurt."

Those words were followed by the sound of clashing beer bottles or glasses. I used to be able to tell the difference after hearing it multiple times a week when my dad had his friends over back when I was younger. My parents had friends over all the time. Our house was a party house on weekends, and the adults' conversations about their family problems were always more interesting than the homework scattered across my bedroom floor. Someone was telling my dad to finish his drink, but he knew better than to chug his drink with me on the other line. At least some of his cognitive ability was left intact.

"You still there?" The words came out slowly but smoothly. My lips tugged upwards at the familiarity I was so accustomed to, a familiarity I didn't want to become distant. I missed him, even the part of him that didn't understand me.