Weightless

21) Not A Promise

(Same day) 21st of June 2017

She's here. Why is she here? I'm not worth being here for.

Those eyes. They keep looking. It makes me sweat, the sun pressing down on us, wind ripping through our clothes. She's scanning me, searchingly. Trying to read me. Good luck.

I couldn't say no. Running wasn't possible, not with her linking her arm into mine. To my room we go. I don't know what she wants. I wish I could see straight.

She's sitting, now. Staring. Again. Straightened brown hair, dull eyes, painted and slightly parted lips as if she's thinking, desperately, of what to say. I sit oppositely to her. I wait. Neither of us speak. I pull my sleeves over my hands. We await something which isn't going to happen.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Mollie isn't working today, then?"

"No," Cal is stood in reception - refreshing his phone messages, over and over, awaiting a miracle - by the desk. "Day off."

Charlie walks to Cal's side, quietly. He's always been a calming presence. Cal turns off hs phone, meeting Charlie's eyes; they have a look in them which isn't as patronizing as pity. Sympathy, that's it.

"Shouldn't it be your day off?"

"Yeah. Only so much sitting about I can do, though."

Sigh. That's all Cal ever hears. Sighs. He does the same. "I'm sure it'll all be back to normal soon, Cal."

"You're probably right," they know it's a lie.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I'm glad I found you."

I don't ask how she did. I watch her curiously. I've never taken her for one who would do detective work but people are full of surprises. I wouldn't have expected her to dedicate precious time to me either. Surprises.

"How are you?"

Shrug. I figure I should ask her how she is but I don't. It feels like there's a knot in my throat. I can just hear my voice if I were to speak. Scratchy. Weak. Pathetic.

"Do you want to get a drink? We could grab a coffee."

I don't. She knows I don't want to.

"Water, then?" When I don't make advances to reply, she does one of those little huffs that Cal does sometimes. "I just want to help you, Ethan."

Help me?

Like the basket case I am, I suppose. Poor Ethan. Needy. Struggling. Troubled, wounded...

A run away.

I'm on my feet as she begins to speak again. My vision is wobbly, my glasses are sliding off of my nose. She tries to stop me, arm flailing, but I dodge her. I reach the door. I grasp the handle. I push.

I collapse before I make it out of the room.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After Cal tries and fails to do his job properly - he's honestly rushing about like a headless chicken, armed with good intent but not a full night of sleep - he is banished to the staff room before he causes any harm. It's empty in there, as usual. It's where he spends the majority of his time.

Cal pulls out his phone. He's been thinking, coming up with plans. Mollie's approval is needed; or wanted, anyway. He scrolls his call log. Most recent one is Mollie's number. Second most recent call is Ethan. None of those calls were returned. Cal swallows back any emotion.