Among The Stars

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

When I get home, I instantly walk up to my room, dodging any questions my mom decides to have about my day, and lock my door.

I stare blankly at his name in my phone and bite my bottom lip a little. If I called, would there just be robotic beeping on the other end? Who would answer? I had never called him. Ever. He had called me, maybe once or twice, but I never picked up. I have never liked talking to people over the phone. I preferred texting or face to face. I guess I'm just weird that way.

Slowly, I click on his contact and hit the call button, taking a deep, shaky breath.

I press the cold metal phone up to my ear and wait for his reply that's never going to come.

"Hello," his voice chants in a cheery voice, "Why the hell are you calling Justin Blake on a lovely day like this? You probably have better things to do. Anyways, leave a message if it's actually worth my time. Bye!"

I laugh a little bit and scratch the back of my neck as I hear the beep.

I don't say anything. I just hang up and keep calling his phone, just wanting to hear his voicemail over and over.

Then, a knock comes on my door and I set my phone down, looking at the door blankly.

"Hey, sweetie. Can I come in? The school called about the whole suicide thing," my mom says from the other side.

"I don't want to talk about it," I yell to her, my voice catching a bit in the middle of the sentence.

Nobody answers, so I figured she left or was just listening on the other side of the door. Either way, I don't care.

How could he have been so stupid? What was wrong with Justin Blake's life? He was popular and funny and handsome and always so happy. It's almost impossible to imagine him pointing a gun at his head.

What would've been running through his head when he did it? Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the fact he had been cheating on his girlfriend and he couldn't handle that.

Maybe it was his family or his job or just his crazy thoughts wandering off. He tended to do that. Just imagine a scenario and kind of let if scare him.

Some people were sure he had schizophrenia, but I knew him better than everyone else. He was just imaginative you could say. I'm not even really sure it's a real word, but it really suits him.

I sigh and look at his number in my phone again.

I spend the rest of the day, calling him, beginning to perfectly etch the sound of his voice into my mind.