In an effort to wake herself up, Chrys broke into relieving yawn. Her eyes drooped shut with the intent to avoid the incandescence of the sun that spilled through her bedside window. What time was it now? She hadn't the slightest clue. Enervated, she made an attempt to sit upright, but her heavy head pinned her back down. Her mind had been chased into her measureless thoughts. Her ears still rung from what she could remember of last night's deafening club rapping and pop songs. After rubbing her eyes redundantly and finally collecting her will to get up, she stretched her arm over to her watch.
"Shit, it's already 2?" she muttered to herself, battling her exhaustion and hangover.
Her stomach lurked in its place. She was going to throw up again. Forcefully, she shoved the urge down with a glass of water and steadied her faint body on the kitchen bench. She glanced over at her apartment window. The clouds hung low on the horizon and nearby buildings faced away from her. Jaded.
How long had it been since then? A year? Maybe even two? Her body was completely devoid from its sense of time - day in and day out, it was all the same. She knew the memory so well, as if it were the back of her hand. It haunted her. Like a hazy smoke, thick and dark inside of her chest. A trauma she needed to separate herself from more than anything. But it was difficult. Because although it made each passing second of her life appear to be worth less and less, the memory was really all that remained. It was now what defined her.
When they broke up.
Chrys bit her lip and her gaze darkened. Feeling sluggish, she roamed into the bathroom and examined herself in the mirror.
As splashes of tap water drizzled down her cheeks, the dull, grey circles under her eyes came into view. Pathetic, she thought. In spite of the stains that smudged her white tank top, her arms showed firm muscle. Chrys ran her fingertips through her shaggy pixie cut hair and trailed them to her stretched lobe earring.
It must've been a good half hour she spent there, thinking through her indecision and gently touching the scars on her forearm - the ones she'd inflicted upon herself.
Not now, demanded the more sensible person inside of her. She set the piece of metal down at the rim of the sink.
Chrys then brought herself to her wardrobe, an unorganised set of hoodies, flannels and more tank tops. The torn jeans she wore last night lay in a heap on the ground. Chrys bent over and amidst folding it, something in its back pocket caught her gaze.
A crumpled unused white napkin, it seemed. She flipped it over and written in black biro was a note. It's handwriting was simple, not too expressive. Androgynous.
Call me if you ever need someone to talk to. 0406371890
How bizarre, who would've bothered to do such a thing? Let alone write it on a napkin, of all.
Chrys' head buzzed with irritation. She couldn't remember who did it, why, or how they managed to casually slip a note into her pocket without initiating some sort of fist fight from making contact with her backside. The harder she thought, the more it pained her incapacitating memory. She prayed she hadn't said anything foolishly worth regretting.
Finally, after three long seconds, she punched the number into her phone. Three dials and a soft, female voice picked up.
"Hello? Who is this?" the voice began. Somehow, Chrys recognised it. It jogged some of her memory - the gentle architecture of a set of lips, a tender touch on her arm-
"Hello?" it seemed to echo off the walls in Chrys' head. She snapped herself out of her visions.
"Uh, um, hi... Chrys speaking. I found a note in my back pocket. I believe it's from last night. Uh, do you happen to be the one who put it there?" That smile still lingered in her head. The voice fit it perfectly.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Chrys could hear the comfort behind her lyricalness.
With uneasiness, Chrys continued, "I'm sorry, but I can't remember a thing about what I said or did, would you mind filling me in? I'm really hoping I didn't say anything offensive or stupid."
"Oh no, don't worry, you didn't. But you certainly were the highlight of my night," she chuckled, "coffee? There's a cafe just down the road from The Grey Skull."
"Wh- erm, now? I'm not ready yet and am a complete mess wait-"
"If you're busy, it's okay, I'll always be here any time."
"I'll be there in 30."
Crys' heart paced between her ribs. It'd been far too long since she'd tried to make herself look good in front of another. She rummaged through her mostly monochromic clothes and pulled out a button-up and a pair of Bermuda shorts. After tidying up her collar a little and ensuring that her front door was properly locked, Chrys began her walk to The Grey Skull - the nightclub she'd visited last night.
Crazy, this all was. Obviously her drunk self had intrigued a conversation with a stranger and now she was on her way to meet her - for what felt like the first time, but wasn't. Conceivably that would differ once Chrys had actually taken a heedful, sober look at the stranger's face, but for now, she was completely unknowing. She gulped at how much information she may have betrayed. How long they talked for. If they'd done anything much more than talk.
And amongst it all, she'd completely forgotten to ask for the stranger's name.
The walk took less time than she'd anticipated. And just like the girl had said, settled on the end of the street was a cafe that'd opened not too long ago. Chrys had never acknowledged its presence. Cafes weren't quite her style.
Her sight was guided through the glass pane of the vintage-like restaurant. The walls were heavily decorated with posters and quaint paintings. Pot plants brought life to the room and pastries and other cakes were on display. A subtle bell chimed as Chrys stepped in. She was greeted with the scent of ground coffee and bread. It wasn't too busy, nor too loud- the ideal atmosphere. She wondered which of the people she saw was the one she had met yesterday. Perhaps she would recognise her.
Somebody lifted their head and their eyes made contact with Chrys'. Chrys blinked and the girl blinked back. It was her, she knew it was her. She had sleek, dark hair that rested in place on her shoulders. Bright eyes, and to match it, an equally as bright smile. Chrys approached her and took a seat on the opposite end of her table.
"Hey," the girl said gleefully. She wore a curve-hugging top that showed just enough skin.
"H-Hi," Chrys looked away briefly. "I'm very sorry but I never got your name."
"Nora, don't sweat it, I think you were really drunk."
"No joke, my head is still killing me." Literally. "So uh yeah, yesterday? What happened? We didn't... hook up, did we?"
"Would've been nice," she laughed and her shoulders raised. "Just kidding, just kidding. Maybe we kissed, I don't know, even I was a little tipsy."
Chrys raised an eyebrow. "But not enough to forget the conversation." It sounded more like a question than a statement. "Please tell me."
Nora tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hesitant. A waiter set two coffees on the table. Seconds passed. Suddenly all the confidence Chrys had seen stored inside of Nora faded.
"Katherine."
It was as if the whole room had gone silent.
One word. One name. That was all it took to send Chrys' mind spiralling down. The name that had pierced deadly knives into her heart. The name that kept her wide awake at night. The reason why she'd developed an addiction to alcohol. Her. All her.
And somehow she'd exposed this part of herself. Her feeble side. The side she despised more than anything. Chrys was left speechless, her mind elsewhere, lost and wandering.
"Chrys?" Nora's eyes were full of concern and empathy. "I know how much she meant to you. You told me. You told me about your guilt, how you've suffered for so long. Your divorced parents. Your abusive father. How you were raped as a teenager. And Katherine. So much about Katherine. You loved her so much."
Chrys felt an overwhelming amount of emotion rise from her chest and up her throat. From what seemed to be since the very day she was born, her life had been ignored by those who were supposed to love her. Even those designated to. Eventually, she'd discarded herself from the world. She didn't want to be a part of it anymore. There was nobody she could trust. Nowhere she could call home.
And somehow for just a split second, this one girl contradicted it all.
Chrys nodded. She made no eye contact with Nora and instead, began to dig her fingernails deep into her skin.
"Shall I stop there?" her tone was sympathetic.
"No. It's fine, keep going. Katherine." But Chrys knew what words would come next.
"You- you said you killed her."
YOU ARE READING
If You Need Someone to Talk to
Mystery / Thriller"Call me if you need someone to talk to" was the note that came with a phone number, written on a napkin and slipped discretely into Crys' back pocket. Too drunk to remember anything from that particular night, Crys is defeated by her cur...
