I'm Sorry (Not Really)

Chapter Seventeen

What have you done?

Don't leave me alone.

You need to come back,

I need you to.

~A. F.

          Taylor seriously thought I was going to run away, I shook with laughter at the mere thought. Not that I wouldn't like to get away from all these idiots but I need their money, sadly. Though once I'm an adult I might just have to go on a few out of country business trips.

          Wiping away the remnants of my laughter I bent down and looked under my bed for the 'gift' Taylor left me. When I pulled it out, I couldn't even make fun of it, or her for that matter.

          I wish I'd taken some art classes so I could truly describe it, she had painted a life-like portrait of me laying down in the grass. I seem to be sleeping, the vibrant green of the grass mingling with the dark brown of my hair. The sunlight glinting off my skin, making my dark complexion seem to glow. My hands were rested on my stomach, almost like you would lay someone in a casket but I wasn't alone. Someone else's hand was rested on top of mine, the long slender fingers just barely curled around my own. The only defining feature of the hand was a scar along the top of the middle finger, it looked fairly new and ran all the way along the edge of the finger, stopping right at the knuckle and right before the nail bed. She had even painted a soft shadow of whoever it was that fell on me, showing that they were leaning over me. If I didn't know better I'd think this was a picture.

          The longer I looked at it the more detail I found, the trunk of the tree right above my head and just out of frame, a few orange and yellowish leaves that laid on the ground around me and the one that was in the process of falling. She had even gone through the trouble of dressing me in an outfit I actually owned, each wrinkle of my light blue shirt with its own shadow.

          Slowly I lowered myself down onto my bed and set the picture aside. Without really thinking I dialed Taylor's number. As I sat on my bed, hoping she'd answer I realized how young she was. Only thirteen, only thirteen and she's run away. My stomach dropped at the sudden realization.

          "Hello?" Taylor's still adolescent voice sang from my phone, having finally picked up.

          "Hey, hey Taylor, hey..." I stared at the painting. It was gorgeous and I don't know how or why someone could deny the artist of continuing to pursue painting.

          "What's up?" She asked, drawing out the 'u' in up.

          "Taylor, your artwork is gorgeous... but you're only thirteen. You need to come home," My voice was clear and cold as ice.

         I could practically hear her heart fall, "Wh-what? But... you know I won't be allowed to pursue the only thing that makes me happy if I come back. I have money and some friends who will let me stay with them." I closed my eyes for a moment and set the painting down on my bed.

          "I know, but you're still so young. You could get hurt. You need to come home where it's safe."

          I heard rustling on her end, "Safe? 'Come home where it's safe'?! It's a prison there! I hate it there! I'm not going back and if you keep telling me to then I'll just block you and forget you ever existed, it's easier for me that way anyway!" Goosebumps rose on my arms at that, and I let out a shaky breath.

          "No, I won't force you. Can I at least see the people you're staying with and where you're staying? Just to make sure you're safe?" The line was quiet for a few moments.

           "Fine." She huffed slightly, "I'll text you the address in a few days." My shoulders drooped, letting go of tension I didn't even know I had.

           "Thank you." I paused for a moment then continued, "I don't think I told you but that painting is absolutely beautiful."

          Her laugh echoed through the phone and I could tell she was grinning when she spoke, "Thank ya very much. I hoped you would like it."

          A small smile found its way to my face, "I love it but I do have to ask, whose hand is touching me?" I heard her sigh and the line went dead, for a second I thought she had hung up but after checking I saw that she had simply muted herself. So I waited patiently.

           "There are many things you don't know, many things you cannot ever know of," her words were a ghostly reminder of Maria's. "I wish I could tell you, but I simply can't. You may or may not ever find out who it is. And I hope... for your sake, you never have to find out, because if you do, it means you've gone and put yourself in danger. I can't answer questions. So don't ask them.

          Please... please just accept that you may never know, and I will never tell you. If... If you do find out who that is... I hope you don't end up.." She cut herself off, "No, nevermind. Goodbye Thomas, I will see you soon." She ended the call abruptly, her words hurried, and without evening letting me answer. I tried to call her back, but I was ignored each time. I kept trying until she finally sent a text warning me to stop calling her or she'll block me.

          Finally, I tossed my phone on the bed and flopped down myself. Taylor's words replayed in my mind, over and over again. What had she meant? Why couldn't I know? What has she gotten herself into?

          As thought I let my eyes lazily trace the lace-like patterns on the ceiling. The intricate design is a comforting distraction for my restless mind. Though the pattern tracing doesn't keep all the confusing thoughts and questions from my mind, it helps me to sort them into two different categories. Useless, and useful.

          Why were her words so similar to Maria's? Useful. Is she in danger? Useless. I continued to do this until I lulled myself into a dreamless sleep, free from any worries.