I'm into Insomniacs (discontinued)

Birds!

 I stood downstairs in the kitchen, pacing back and forth over the tiled floor, my phone clutched shakily between my sweaty fingers. "Please pick up please pick up please pick up..." Candy sat maybe fifteen feet from me, and the hairs at the back of my neck stood on end whenever I sensed any form of movement from her. The call went to voicemail. I dialed again. 'This is so fucked up. This is seriously so fucked up.' I was literally standing in the same room as my assaulter, and I wasn't going to do a goddamn thing about it. Instead, I was calling a friend to have me picked up. The kitchen was silent, hearing each shrill 'beep' as I dialed.

"..... So, who are you calling?" Her voice didn't sound suspicious. It sounded more awkward and casual, like this was just a normal morning. For a moment, I almost felt like answering, only to realize how dry my throat was. And when I remembered just why my throat was dry, I decided I didn't feel like chatting with her. Instead, I cleared my throat and faced towards the window over the sink. It had rained that morning, leaving behind a murky, depressed blue to litter the sky. I propped my elbows up on the sink's table top, peering out towards the house's backwoods, the phone's lolled ringing echoing through my ear. The backyard exposed a bit of forest, sprouting mossy-blue trees. Plump, shaded birds popped up periodically to whistle something sharp and mysterious, almost frantically, as they swirled around in a thickened cluster of meshed black. Their flapping was frighteningly audible, bashing the tree's branches in a swayed jumble of impact as they launched themselves into the sky. It was depressing.

Suddenly, the ringing stopped, and I was met with a speaker's 'click'.

"Whaaaat?" Answered a groggy voice. I looked to the stove's clock, a bright, neon-green "9:47" blinking periodically. I was amazed at the bounds of laziness she was willing to make, while also having a summer job. I almost chuckled, before remembering myself. I stood up tall, making sure to take a deep breath. I'd have to sound composed.

"Wendy. Can you-" My voice broke. Fuck. "Um... Can you pick me up?" I closed my eyes, feeling a burning sensation in the back of my throat. This was literally too pathetic. This wasn't happening. I wasn't calling Wendy to have me picked up. I was calling the police right now, telling them everything that had happened last night, right down to the last detail. I was going to tell everyone about my problem and about how Candy had attempted to blackmail me with it and how I'd get better because I understood that I was worth more than that and it wasn't something to be ashamed of because I had people there who supported me and would be there every step of the way and Pacifica would hug me and we'd be together living on the sunnier side of Cali-

"Sure. Where are you?" She yawned, the rustling of bedsheets overwhelmingly nerve wracking at the moment. I picked at the cuffs of my sleeve, trying to steady myself.

"Candy's place." I had never said something with more of a red flag in my life. Everything from my tone, to how I phrased the statement, to the volume I said it at. I'm not even sure I can put into words just how miserably I said it. It really is just something you'd have to hear for yourself.

The line went silent. All I could hear were her shallow breaths break off for a moment, only to kick start again with a fierce jolt.

"You're where....?"

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Her rusty red pickup truck fumbled to a holt at the front gates. At the wheel, I was met with a red rat's nest, coupled nicely with an enraged face. I stood at the door of the house, and, although the gates took no more than six seconds to open, Wendy still found the stamina to beep rapidly at the steel bars as they parted for her. Her truck swerved in front of me, taking pride in giving me a heart attack as the wheels kicked up dirt.