Page 31

Where is Travis?
The air in my room is chilled, and I feel the breeze wafting through the open window. Climbing out of bed, I tug on a pair of sweatpants and walk over to the window. Lifting the blinds, I poke my head out and see that his car is gone. It’s not in his driveway either.
My heart sinks in my chest as I turn and run back to my bed. Picking up my phone from my nightstand, my thumb hovers the screen. Swiping to my text messages, I pause when I see the little blue sticky note on the pillow. My fingers fall limp and my phone falls out of my hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
Shaking, I reach down and pick up the note. My eyes skim the piece of paper, and the entire world flips upside down.
Falling to my knees, a sob escapes my chest, and I can’t breathe. My chest constricts and everything hurts. It hurts so bad. He promised I’d never be alone. He promised me forever.
He lied?
No. No, that’s not right.
Picking my phone up from the floor, I call his cell phone and the line rings repeatedly until the call goes to voicemail. But I won’t accept that, so I dial again, and again it rings until the call goes to voicemail. On the fourth attempt, it no longer rings. It goes directly to voicemail.
He turned it off.
My heart and head hurt. None of this makes any sense. Tears stream down my face as I jump to my feet and throw my phone. Running through the bedroom door, I race down the steps, through the hallway, fling open the front door and break into a sprint toward Travis’s house.
Jumping from the sidewalk over the flowerbed, my bare feet nearly slip on the morning dew that coats the grass. When I reach his front step, I fling the screen door open and pound on the heavy wooden door. Banging repeatedly, I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I know in my heart of hearts he’s not here.
When I finally give up on knocking, I run around the side of the house, and pick up the rocks one at a time, until I find the false rock which holds the spare key. Picking up the key, I tremble as I walk back to the door, chest heaving, barely able to breathe. I unlock the door and push it open. The creaking echoing through the emptiness. Running up the steps, I head directly for his bedroom.
Stopping outside of his door, I hold my breath, grip the knob, turn and push. My heart pounds so loud, I can hear it between my ears. I can feel it in my throat. Strangling me. His room is the same, but it’s not. It’s cold. It’s empty. Everything’s where it belongs, but I can feel that something is missing. Walking over to his closet, I open the doors, and find it empty. No clothes. No shoes. Just empty hangers.
In a panic, I quickly move over to the tall bureau on the other side of his room. One by one I pull the drawers out, my heart sinking with each empty space that stares back at me.
He’s gone.
He’s fucking gone.
I can’t hold back the tears. I can’t stop them, and I don’t even try.
Trudging over to his bed, I climb in, pulling the blankets up over my head. Pressing my face to his pillow, I sob. I wail. I let every ounce of agony leave my body. Breathing in, I inhale his scent. Weed and patchouli. I want to believe this is temporary, I mean, the furniture is still here. But something tells me, I’d be a fool to really believe that. Mr. Price wanted him in the city, so that’s where he must be. And he went without me.
I sob until my eyes run dry.
I sob until my body aches.
I sob until my eyes grow heavy, and I fall asleep. The last time I’ll ever been enveloped in all that is Travis James Price.
His note said he left to save me.
I wonder if he knows he just left me in the clutches of hell. Who’s going to save me now?
Wiping the condensation from the bathroom mirror, I take in my appearance. I haven’t slept in the week since he left. I barely eat. I spend my days laying in bed, wearing one of his old t-shirts, and crying. The shirt almost doesn’t even smell like him anymore, and I don’t know if that makes it better, or makes it all hurt more.
Wrapping the towel around my body, I secure it in place before reaching down to pick up my hair brush. When my fingers wrap around the handle, I notice the box of bleach sitting on my counter. I don’t remember buying this. Releasing the handle of the brush, I pick up the box of bleach and give it a once over. I definitely didn’t buy this.
Setting it down, I shrug it off and pick up my hair brush, running it through my long, bright red strands. When I’m finished, I brush my teeth. Twice. In my week-long depressive episode, I couldn’t even manage to shower or take care of my basic needs, so I know I need to show myself some extra care.
Setting my toothbrush down, I swish some water around my mouth, spit, and then turn to leave the bathroom. As I open the door, the sight before me stops me in my tracks.
Uncle Evan is sitting on the end of my bed, and he’s holding a single black rose. Feeling vulnerable, I wrap my arms around the towel that’s secured around me.
“Did you get my gift little doll?” he tilts his head with a menacing smile.
There’s evil in his eyes, and something tells me I should be truly terrified.