Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3) (15 page)

I look down at the floor. I watch my legs, my feet, move. Slowly. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.

{A ridiculous mixture of “
Trumpet Voluntary”
and “
Pomp and Circumstance”
fills my—}

His feet. I see them now too.

The bottom of his dark jeans. His black shoes. My legs. My black heels. All together in my line of vision.

I try to take a deep breath, but nothing happens.

Because I’m not breathing at all.

Purse smashed against my stomach. Body scrunched together. Watching my feet. Watching his feet. Moving. Staying away from his feet. As far away as I can. Moving. Moving. Moving.

Crossing through the door, passing him…right…now. The air between us—a mixture of disappointment, tension, regret…

A small space between us.
{Tiffany takes over. Quiet voice. Quiet, but powerful. “
Could’ve Been
.”}

I step out into the garage. He follows, locking the door and pressing the garage door button on the wall. The garage door opens. Letting in some much needed air.

He follows me to the passenger side of the car. Carefully. Not touching me. Not brushing up against me.

After I pass the car door, he opens it. Putting the door between us again.

So much between us.

I don’t look at him. I don’t say anything. I shove my body into the car. Seatbelt on. Gentle click of the door shutting behind me. Gentle. Not angry. Not loud.

Disconsolate.

Which is worse. Much worse.

I don’t move as he gets into the car, turns the key, and backs out of the garage, out of the driveway.

Neither of us say anything, do anything.

I feel him, though. Feel the tension. The sadness. Feel each heavy breath he draws.

Can he feel me too? Can he—

{Tiffany gets louder. So loud. I know, Tiffany. I know. I know.}

Silent trip. It somehow seems even more silent than usual.

Silence.
{Tiffany.}
Silence.
{Tiffany.}
Silence.
{Tiffany.}

He pulls into my driveway. I release my seatbelt and put my fingers on my door handle before he turns off the ignition. He doesn’t need to open my door. Shouldn’t open my door. Shouldn’t come stand that close to me.

My feet, in a daze, step onto my driveway and out of his car.

Methodical. Mechanical.

I don’t feel my legs as they move toward the porch.

I hear him, hear him as he gets out of the car and follows me. Not too close. Not touching. No danger of touching. A couple of paces apart.

I just keep walking. I stop at my front door and grab my keys from my purse.

He stops right behind me. Close this time.

The smell of his cologne. The sound of his breathing. Him.

A tingly, prickly sensation spreads throughout my—

No, Callie.

Key in lock. Door open.

Feet in.

Body turning, turning, turning to shut the door. To face him one more time.

{Tiffany wailing.}

Eyes meet eyes. Two sets of sad, hopeless eyes.

Finished eyes.

We stand there for…for longer than we probably should.

Staring. Not solving anything. Not making anything better. Not—

CALLIE. It’s time.

I’m right. My mind is right. Rational, for once.

It’s time.

One.

Two.

Three.

My hand starts to push, push on the door. Pushing it closed. Watching those sad eyes. Not breathing, not blinking until he disappears. Until the door clicks shut. Stands between us.

I stand and stare at the door.

And stand. And stand. And stand. And stare. And stare. And stare.

Did he leave yet? Did he move? Should I—

No, Callie. You shouldn’t check.

Breathing. Numbly. Blinking numbly. Moving numbly. My feet kick off my shoes, haphazardly depositing them onto my shoe towel. My body moves, sinking onto the stairs in front of me.

I sit. And I stare at the door.

Not seeing. Not feeling.

Not functioning.

{Not able to distinguish between Tiffany and Damien, who are both singing now. Singing at the same time. Dissimilar notes and chords on top of one another.}

HOURS, MINUTES, SECONDS LATER. I don’t know how many. Mandy walks through the front door.

I’m still here. On the steps. Not moving.

She stands in front of me. Worry all over her face.

“What’s wrong, Callie?”

Everything.

I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can’t talk about it right—

“Is it him? Dr. Blake?”

My head nods. It’s him. It’s me. It’s—it’s the disastrous, painful combination of the two of us.

 “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another head shake. An emphatic head shake. No.
No. No.

Mandy’s hand grabs my arm. My head keeps shaking. She stands me up. Gently helps me up the stairs. Head shaking. Head shaking. Head shaking.

When we make it to my room, Mandy tells me to come to her room, to come get her whenever I’m ready to talk.

I don’t want to talk.

I don’t want to do anything.

Mandy lingers for a bit in my doorway. I don’t say anything. I sit on my bed. Eventually, she leaves. Hesitantly. Very hesitantly. Clearly wanting to stay, but somehow sensing that I want…need…to be alone.

Alone. I sit on my bed. Sitting. Staring. Being.

Eventually, my body gets up. Floats up. Starts my night routine all by itself.

1:32 A.M. NIGHT ROUTINE: DONE. In bed, wearing a big t-shirt and sweatpants.

Staring.

Staring at my hamper, where a pair of purple silk pajamas is sitting.

Wondering whether to throw them out…wash them…or put them on…

I can’t stop staring at them. But I really should. Need to. Have to.

Have to. Have to. Have to.

My body pulls, my legs pull me out of bed and over to the hamper, where I scoop up the—

Silk under my fingers. Silk that he touched. Rubbed. Kissed.

My head moves down, down, down, burying itself in the material.

The smell of him. The smell of me. All mixed together.

{John Legend comes back in with “
All of Me
.” Taking me back to that night…a night not really that long ago. But forever ago. When everything was different. When everything still…was.}

It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.

My limbs, no, my whole body starts to lose its numbness. Its natural anesthesia. Everything starts shivering, beating, feeling.

Feeling. Realizing. Understanding.

Thoughts…memories…hammering through my head.

Stomach aching. Throbbing.

Face. Wet. Soaking wet. Silk pajamas wet too.

My body slides to the floor in front of the hamper.

It’s over. It’s really over. And I can’t—

I can’t do this. I can’t take this.

I can’t feel this.

I’ll take numb over this. Nothingness over this.

One.

One. One. One.

Two.

Two. Two. Two.

Three.

Three. Three. Three.

I move…slide…crawl…over to my closet, the silk pajamas still in my hand. In my hand, but far away from my face.

Closet door open. Piles and piles of shoe boxes stacked on the floor in uniform rows.

I grab the first one that I can, the black one at the top of the first pile.

I tear off the lid and dump the shoes inside on the floor. Two light pink pumps abandoned on the ground. Tiny purple silk pajamas, top and bottom, flung into the box. As many memories…and thoughts…and hopes…as a box can hold thrown in there too.

I shove the lid back on the box and cram the box into a back corner of the closet. Behind other shoe boxes. Not visible unless someone is looking for it.

And no one should be looking for it.

Closet door closed.

My body raises itself from the floor. My hand wipes itself over my face, drying my chin, my cheeks, my eyes.

My feet take me back to bed.

But not to sleep.

Chapter 10

not day five (not day ten)

FRIDAY. 7:30 A.M.

I’ve been here, in bed, for hours.

Not moving.

Not shaking. Not throwing up. Not crying.

Not tired, but not really awake.

Not. Really. Anything.

I have to get up soon. I have to do my morning routine and leaving-the-house routine, and I have to get ready for class. Dr. Gabriel is going to introduce me to his class today.

I don’t even care.

I. Just. Don’t. Care.

{Pink Floyd sings “
Comfortably Numb.
” It’s been playing all night. But it’s not accurate. I’m not comfortable. At all. Comfortable implies relaxed. Comfortable implies at ease. Comfortable implies content.}

My body gets out of bed. Goes through the motions of my morning and leaving-the-house routines. Gets into my car. Goes to campus.

My legs stand me up when Dr. Gabriel says my name, when he identifies me as the person who will soon be teaching his class. My head nods in acknowledgement.

Yes. I heard you say my name. Yes. I’m going to teach your class. No. I don’t care.

When class ends, I leave, drift out of the classroom before Dr. Gabriel can even put his lecture notes away in his briefcase.

I float to my car. Drive. Make it back to my house.

3:42 P.M. IN BED AGAIN.

Existing. Being. Nothing else.

{Uncle Kracker and Dobie Gray. “
Drift Away
.” Far, far, far away.}

STAIRS CREAKING. FEET WALKING.

“Callie?”

Melanie’s voice. In my room.

“Are you coming down for Girls’ Night?”

Girls’ Night. Friday night. Must be around 8:00 p.m.

It doesn’t matter.

I don’t say anything. My head doesn’t shake or nod.

The blanket, my comforter, is being lifted off of me. Melanie’s arms pull me out of bed and lead me downstairs.

ON THE COUCH. BODY PRESSED against the cushions. Eyes closed.

Friends
is on. Season 2? Or 8? Maybe 5?

I don’t know. I’m not watching. I’m not listening.

Mandy and Melanie’s voices occasionally waft through the air. I can’t quite catch what they are talking about. Their voices are too low. Too soft. That, and I’m not really trying to hear them. It doesn’t matter what they are—

A body sits beside me on the couch. Right by my stomach. It must be—

“Callie? You want a margarita?” Mandy.

My head shakes back and forth a tiny bit. No. No, I don’t want a margarita. I don’t want to have to sit up to drink it. I don’t want to have to hold a glass in my hands, to have to lift a glass up to my lips.

Plus, I haven’t eaten anything in…well, in a long time.

Drinking doesn’t seem like a great idea.

Mandy’s body slips away from mine, off of the couch.

My sisters’ low voices start making noise again. They blend in with Rachel and Ross and Joey and all of the other “friends.”

A bunch of words. A bunch of talking.

I hear all and none of it.

A BODY SITS BESIDE ME again. I don’t know how long it’s been since the last time. I don’t know what time it is now…or was then.

“Callie?” Melanie this time. Her hand pushes away pieces of my hair that are splattered against my forehead. Just like what Mom would’ve done if she—

“What happened, Callie? What—”

My head shakes back and forth, cutting her off.

What did happen?

Everything ended. Just like before. It ended. It ended. It—

Except…except he didn’t leave this time. This time, he drove me home. He helped
me
leave this ti—

“Callie?” Melanie is waiting. Hand still brushing back my hair.

Words drop out of my mouth. “It’s over.” A simple explanation. Simple summary of what—

“Who ended it?”

Who ended it?
Did I end it?

I left. But he drove me home. He helped me leave. So who is respons—

“Callie?” My sister, the lawyer. Not giving up.

More words. Concise account of events. “Me? Him?” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Who said it? Who said that it was over?”

No one said that, Melanie. I’m saying that now. Because it is. Because it—

“What did he say to you, Callie?”

He didn’t say much.
What did he say? He…He—

“He told me that he loves me.”

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. Or he did.

Does he still? Can he possibly—

“But how does that—” She stops and starts again. “Why did he—”

Flustered. Melanie’s flustered. Her hand pauses in my hair. “Well,” she tries again. “What did you say to him?”

What didn’t I say?
I said everything. Everything I’ve been holding back for weeks.

His eyes, his bruised eyes, appear in my head.
{Tiffany comes back in with—}

“Callie.”

I shake my head, eyes still closed. My eyes. Watery now at the corners. Mouth open. “I—I just freaked out about everything.”

“And then you left?”

My head nods. And nods. And nods.

Not just watery eyes anymore. Watery face.

Melanie’s hands travel quickly from my hair to my cheeks, wiping away my—

“But why, Callie? Don’t you feel the same way?”

I nod. And nod and nod. Face and hair and pillow getting wetter and wetter. Throat dry. Head spinning.

Of course I feel the same way. Of course I—

“Why then, Callie?”

I just shake my head. Emphatically. I can’t talk. And I wouldn’t be able to explain everything even if I could find a way to calm myself down enough to speak right now. It’s too much. Too complicated.