Hiding From Us

50. liam

Voicemail number one: 

     ‘‘Hey, Shain, this is your best buddy-o, William John Kendrick, just calling to ask how your Sunday evening is going. Unless you are taking a shower, spending quality family time, or are being held captive by an axe murderer, I would love to chat with you. Actually, scratch that last one. If you’re being held captive by an axe murderer, give me a shout now, dammit. Anyhoo, just wanting to talk. Peace out. Byeeeeee—’’

     Voicemail number two:

     ‘‘Yo, Ms. Watts. God, I hope you never end up as Mrs. Shain Lockhart. That sounds terrible. Doesn’t that sound terrible? Call me so that we can have a debate on this.’’ 

     Voicemail number three:

     ‘‘C’moooon, c’moooon, with everythiiiing falling down around me, I’d like to belieeeve in all the po-si-bi-li-tiieees. Hey. Sing with me. Dude, I know this is your favourite song at the moment. SING WITH ME, SHAIN WATTS. Panic! At The Disco. Emphasis on panic. They’re a really cool band. Wanna know what my favourite song is? Okay. Here we go. Drumrooolllll. It’s—muahahahahaha I’m not gonna tell ya, sucker, you’re gonna have to CALL ME TO FIND OUT. Emphasis on CALL ME.’’

     Voicemail number four: 

     ‘’I hope you’re not dead. Seriously, I hope your phone isn’t like just lying beside your bloody body. That would suck. Yeah. So, um, can you give me a call?’’

     Voicemail number five:

     ‘’Oh my God, Shain, please please please please please call me so that I know you’re not dead. Did I do something to piss you off? ‘Cause if I did, then I am seriously sorry and I just want to know that you’re okay. I’m probably totally overloading your voicemail right now, but I just want you to give me one little sign. Please? Pretty please with ice cream and pie and cake and chocolate and sprinkles and omigod frickin’ HEDGEHOG CHOCOLATES, SHAIN. THAT’S RIGHT. I’M GIVING YOU THE HEDGEHOGS. Just please call me.’’

     I waited. I lay mostly naked on my bed, listening to Owl City on my stereo, but thinking about her favourite song: C’mon by Panic! At The Disco and Fun. Out of interested curiosity and uninterested curiosity, I Googled the guitar chords for the song, and even though I knew nothing about guitar, they looked pretty easy. I knew she’d be able to play them. She’d strum the first chord, maybe adjust her capo, tune a string, play the chord, tune the string again, and then start singing. She’d struggle with the higher notes, since she was an alto, but she’d regain them eventually without using falsetto as the song became more familiar. 

     call me call me call me call me nothing

     I hoped she wasn’t with Erick; that would seriously suck for me. There was a fairly good chance that she wasn’t, seeing as they’d kind of been cold and edgy for the past week, but anything could’ve happened. Maybe their were making out right now after a long, desperate conversation involving apologies and I love yous. 

     Why did she love him? She’d only known him for, what, two years? How did two years beat eight years of die-hard friendship? She’d always told me everything. I was always there for her. I was able to make her smile when nobody else could, and I was totally ready to make a fool of myself in front of her, and honestly, Erick was just a skinny soccer player who was told old for her anyways and he really didn’t deserve her and I wanted her to be with me so badly—

     My phone buzzed. Immediately, I grabbed it and read the notification: Text from Shain. Yes. Yes yes yes. I swiped, put in the passcode so fast that I had to retry it twice, and clicked on my messages. It was strange that she would only text me after so many of my vocal calls for her to talk to me.