Letters to Elle

16 | Calla Lilies

Too lazy for proof reading, too stupid for knowing the difference. I'm kidding. My spell check red squiggly line thingy on Word isn't working, so everything I type is magically being spelled wrong. Sorry. I promise I'm not that stupid. And I just posted this since the last chapter was only two pages :3 This is more average sized. But even though I posted two chapters, don't forget to vote and comment on both because I'm awesome and you love me and I'm working hard on this story (or hardly working?) and because I'm almost done with NaNoWriMo and you guys should be so proud of me. 

                        SIXTEEN

                        CALLA LILIES

                                    ♡♡♡

The phone drops from my hands and onto the bed. I’m pretty sure I just heard Elle get shot, but I don’t want to believe it. Clearly whoever called Elle’s phone knew that I was the one who had the phone, because why else would be even bother with the recording? This person wanted to get under my skin, and they succeeded.

            Apparently I had screamed when that voice hissed “you die” because the next thing I know Jake was running into my room with a paniced look on his face.

            I hadn’t been talking to my brother lately. Not really since we opened the box all those weeks ago. We had bother just sort of retreated into our own little worlds, not really bothering to take on the terrors of the world. I don’t blame him for ignoring me. I’ve got some major baggage.

            “Waverly?” Jake gasped out, out of breath. His hand grips the door frame so tightly that his knuckles are turning a bright white. “Are you okay? Why did you scream?”

            I look down at the phone on my bed, and Jake doesn’t miss the motion.

            He walks over to the bed and picks up the phone. It’s too late, anyway, to erase what I just heard. Rubbing his finger over the screen of the phone, he sighs and tosses it back onto the bed, turning toward me.

            His hazel eyes are looking straight at me. These past few days, I’ve come to fear direct eye contact. It brings horrible news and hurt as well as the occasional painful experience. I look away.

            “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his right hand coming up to clasp my shoulder tightly. He holds on as if letting me go would be like letting his little sister slip through his fingers, which I suppose is what it would be like.

            I nod my head. “I’m fine.”

            “I don’t think you are.”

            “Well, I am.”

            Jake releases my shoulder but puts two fingers below my chin and brings my face up to look at him. “Would you look at me when you speak at least? It would make everything that comes out of your mouth at least a little more believable.”

            “Fine.”

            “Don’t fine me,” Jake admonishes. “Just tell me what the hell happened.”

            I glance down at the phone, but before I speak, I look up at Jake so he doesn’t get angry with me again. “I got a call.”

            “From?”

            “A person. A man, I’m assuming.”

            Jake’s eyebrows knit together. “Why do you assume it’s a man?”