Masterpiece

Chapter 15

I'd been crying my eyes out for hours. It's like a cracking dam had finally burst from the strain. It hurt to watch the video of him, but I did. Just for a reminder, I guess.

There was a knock on the door. I didn't have the strength to get up and answer it. It could've been a anybody for all I knew, but I didn't care.

"Are you a thief?" I yelled through the door, my voice cracking.

"Nope, last time I checked, I had no criminal record." I recognized the voice.

"Come in," I sniffled. John steps through the door. I turned to him.

"Sorry about your mug. I'll get you a new one, I promise." My voice sounded weak. I hug my knees to my chest.

"Don't sweat it. I never liked that mug, anyway. I'm more worried about you. I read the newspaper. How ya' feeling?"

I shook my head. "I don't feel anything anymore. Just hollow, empty. I'm pretty sure I cried myself out. I don't think I can anymore."

He sits down next to me. "I can understand that. I felt that same way after we ran away. I cried like a baby. Mind you, I was only like fourteen."

"How did you get used to it?" I ask.

"I didn't, really. I just got a grip on myself. I told myself, I had to move on. Amelia always said, whenever I was sad, to pick myself up or I'll miss out on the good things in that big world out there." He smiled to himself.

He made it sound so easy to just move on. To forget. My dad was someone I could never forget, but I guess Amelia was right. I had to pick myself up.

"You'll be alright, Mona." He starts to leave, but I grab his hand.

"Stay with me for a little while?"

"Sure thing." I lay on my back and he assumes the same position next to me.

"It's funny how as soon as you start pulling things together, you suddenly get cut off at the knees." He stares into the ceiling intently. I can't help gazing toward him. His features are just so demanding, as if you'd be crazy not to take them in.

"You know what else is funny?" He says shifting his body to where its facing me.
"What else is funny?"

"Amelia's bed head." He laughs dryly. I try to laugh but all that comes out is a weak exhale of breath. Before long I was asleep.

When I wake in the morning, John is still here. He is no longer lying beside me, but staring into the window. I rise and check the time in my phone.

9:39

I must've been tired yesterday. I almost never sleep past eight.
"Morning, sunshine," John says still looking at the window.

"Good morning. You didn't go home?" I ask.

"Nah. Figured you didn't want to be alone." Well, he wasn't wrong.

He looks at my deeply like he always does. "Hey, why don't you come live with me?"

The question was blunt. Too blunt, if you asked me. I managed an answer, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Just until you get your own place, because this just doesn't say home."

I scoff. "What are you talking about? This place screams home," I lie to myself as I say it out loud.
He folds his arms over his chest.

"This place doesn't even have a bathroom, Ramona." He had a point there.

He grabs my hands. "Look, just until you are on your feet. There's no way I'm letting you live here. I nearly broke my back on that floor." He rubs his back.

"Ok, ok. I see where you're coming from. But just until I'm on my feet." My mind is everywhere. How could I have said yes? I wasn't thinking, like my brain was somehow independent from the rest of my body. But, I guess it wouldn't hurt to sleep in a huge bed. Or watch from in front of a TV screen. The more I thought about it, the more I agreed with the proposition. I smirked at having John there all the time. I guess it did have its perks.

"Hey, John? I want to go see my parents." He looks at me with a confused, dismissive look.

"What? You didn't want to go last time and you see how that turned out. Why the change of heart?" He was right. I don't know what had gotten into me. But I was puzzled and angry that my dad died a few days ago and my mother didn't have the common decency to tell me about it. Out of all the terrible things she could've done, she does this. It was a low blow. Even for her.

"I want to talk to my mom. I want to see her, see how she's holding up. Although, I'm mad, really mad, I can't help but wonder how she's handling it." I looked up at John. He nodded acceptingly.

"Alright. I'll drive you, and I cross my heart that I won't crash this time."

•••

The drive is silent. I keep holding in breaths as he drives, my mind picturing a car ramming into us again. He seems calm, his eyes glued to the windshield. He hadn't spoken to me since I got in.
I want to turn the radio up, but I didn't want to go down that path again.

"Are you going to be mute all day? You haven't spoken to me since we left." He turns his head slightly, but then flicks his eyes back to the road.

"Oh, sorry. I hadn't realized." John's voice sounded distance. Like he wasn't fully here.

"What's up with you?" I playfully poke him in the arm, repeatedly nudging him towards the window. The car swerved a little when I did. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

"Ramona, stop." He grips the wheel so hard, his knuckles turn white.

"What is the matter with you?"
"Nothing, I just don't-" He doesn't finish his statement.
"You don't what?" I prod.

"I don't want to hurt you. Not again. When I saw you in the hospital, it broke my heart that I was responsible." He's still not looking at me. He's so focused on the road he won't talk to me or even steal a glance in my direction.

"John, it wasn't your fault. It was only a couple of minor scrapes, you're not going to hurt me." I reach out to him but pull back, his expression was unnerving. He was serious this time. I sag in my seat and stare at the window.