Mean Girls Missing

31

August 1

4:17 pm

Stephanie

Sammi had turned into me over the past few weeks. Or I suppose it'd sound better to say she was acting just like I was: cold, ruthless, emotionless. I had to admit it was strange to see from an outside perspective. It kept me questioning. Was I always this bitchy? Ugh, I hoped the answer was no because this was unbearable.

She took the attitude a little differently. She didn't do it out of rage like I did. It wasn't misplaced anger. It was sadness. Uncontrollable sorrows. Most of her day was spent in bed. Sometimes she was crying. Sometimes she was sleeping. A lot of the time Sammi just laid there. Motionless. I checked on her every fifteen minutes like she was an infant because I wasn't sure if she still breathing.

She was still in her pajamas when I went in there for the hundredth time today. Her blankets pulled up to her chin, dead eyes staring into nothing.

"Sammi?" I spoke gently. She didn't move. I saw her blink. "Sam, it's almost dinnertime. I just have a really bad feeling in my gut like he's going to come down here and I don't want you to be in your sleep clothes."

"I don't care." Her voice was as dead as her eyes.

"I know you don't. I don't care either. I think it would be a good idea if you got out of bed and got moving."

"It's not happening."

I closed my eyes. Lord, give me the patience.

"Sammi. I don't want you to get hurt. I know you're in a funk but can you at least put some clothes on?"

"Too late."

"I'll take care of dinner. I have the water on the stove already. All you have to do is get dressed and show your face if he shows up."

"I can't," Sammi replied. She rolled onto her side so her back was facing me.

"Girl, you're about to piss me off." I was holding on to my last string of patience with her. I was not fit to have children, that was damn sure. "Please. Get out of bed."

"I won't."

"Fine. I don't care. Stay here and get your ass beat. Whatever you want, Sam."

I channeled my short fuse into the pasta. The noodles were beginning to go limp. I stirred them until they hit the bottom of the pot. Cooking wasn't my strongest suit. I found it was easier to bake cookies or muffins.

The microwave beeped, signaling the corn was ready. I popped it out, wincing and exclaiming different curse words from the heat of the measuring cup.

The hatch doors flew open. My heart dropped several stories.

"Hello, Arnie." I greeted him without turning my back. I poured the corn into a bowl and set it on the table. "Dinner's almost ready. Just a few more minutes."

"Where is Samantha?" Arnie asked immediately.

Oh, shit. I tried to get her out of bed but she wouldn't listen to me. It wasn't up to me to protect her anymore when Arnie could walk five feet and see the truth for himself.

I shrugged. "I think she's got a stomach bug or something."

"Samantha?" he called. I heard his footsteps going the opposite direction. "Samantha, what are you doing in bed at this hour?"

If she responded, it was too faint for me to overhear. I tried to focus on the food in front of me. My anxiety crept up the baby hairs on my back, full of what if's and horrendous situations that may or may not happen.