Hey, this story was lodged in my brain so I wanted to get it out, but I'm definitely still working on Crumpled. I hope to have another chapter out this week! Thanks, and I hope that you like this...
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Claire's fingers trembled as she reached for the phone. She began dialing the numbers with trepidation. Numbers that she knew so well, emblazoned in her brain. Nine. That was the last digit left...all she had to do was rotate the dial once more. Who knew the number nine could be so significant.
Nine...it screamed at her, taunting her, mocking her – telling her that she was weak. Too weak to finish dialing the silly number. Too weak to follow through with the phone call that she needed to make. Too weak to...do anything. She let the phone fall back down on the cradle.
Claire buckled her knees and limply slumped her small frame into the cushy chair. The phone was next to her on the mini table, blaring at her smugly. Like it knew all along that she would break before she finished her task. A gurgling in her stomach agreed with the phone. Her pulse quickened in symphony, coming to a crescendo adding to the consensus.
Coward...the buzz from the refrigerator seemed to murmur in the background. Couldn't even tell him, it continued it's berating. The stillness in the air bellowed it's assent.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and clutching her head in her snowy hands. I'm a fool, she told herself. Why can't I just tell him? Why can't I just call him and say it? But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Hell, she hadn't even mustered up the nerve to tell anyone yet. It was this little ball inside of her that had steadily been burgeoning into this fuzzy confused mass that she couldn't even quite recognize. Thoughts were swirling about in her mind, bumping and pushing around, some hiding in the corner; all were trying to cower away from the light. From reality.
The starchy white walls were staring at her, daring her to find some courage. Daring her to make the move. Daring her to do something. She needed to stop moping about, waiting for this magical answer or solution to materialize in a pretty glitter before her. She had to fling the door open and face it head on. Do I have to do it alone? That tiny voice asked.
The phone silently clamored for her attention again, offering her the simple answer. She lifted her head and glared at it. Easy for you to say, she answered back. Just do it. Come on, it's not that hard, Claire. Her slender fingers tentatively reached out, carefully dialing each number. Slowly, uncertainly. Three more to go, doing good...ok, two left...come, on – you can do it. Just put in that last number nine...
Slam. The phone was resting back on it's cradle.
Claire released a heavy breath. Almost. But almost doesn't matter.
Ring...ring...ring...
Claire nearly jumped out of her own skin. She continued staring at the noisy object of her affliction. Should I answer? Of course you should moron, it chided back. Her arm extended over ever so gently, her hand closed around the top and she pulled it up. She forced a deep gulp down, and cleared her throat nervously. It felt as though a brick had lodged itself into her windpipe.
"Hello?" she barely managed to squeak out.
There was no immediate answer. Anxiety gnawed at her innards.
"John? Is that you?" she rushed out.
"No. Allison."
Equal parts relief and disappointment washed over her. She steadied her frazzled nerves with a deep breath.
"Claire?"
"Oh. Sorry. I was just – I don't know what I was doing really."
"Are you alright?"
"Of course," Claire lied, being so used to repeating this she didn't need to think about it.
There was silence. Claire fidgeted, she had the strangest sensation that Allison was reading her emotions, as if she could channel them through the phone line.
"Why don't you really tell me what's wrong," Allison finally challenged, a tint of annoyance colouring her voice.
Claire cleared her throat again – damn that blasted habit, she'd have to remedy that one of these days. John always did say that that was a dead giveaway. She jolted herself out of her internal dialog, realizing that Allison was still waiting for an answer.
"There's nothing wrong, Allison. Really. I don't know why you think that there is." She never did get that whole lying under pressure thing down.
"You need to tell him," she remarked simply.
Claire blanched and she faltered for a moment. "T – tell him what?" she attempted to ask innocently.
"C'mon, Claire. You know what."
Claire reached a hand up and rubbed her face tiredly, smudging her mascara in the process. She didn't notice. Her mind was too befuddled to take note of the things that she normally would be very meticulous about.
"How did you know?" she finally asked in a small voice.
Allison shrugged even though Claire couldn't see her. "I can tell."
"Do you think...you think he knows?"
"No."
"Oh." She wrapped the cord around her finger aimlessly. "I don't know what he's gonna say..."
Allison paused. "Do you even know what you want him to say?"
"I don't want him to be mad at me."
"I think that he gave you a little help with this,"
Claire groaned. "What am I going to do?"
"You already know."
She sighed. "How is it you make everything sound simpler than it is?"
"I don't. I just don't complicate everything like you guys like to."
Claire scoffed. "I don't like to have things complicated."
"Really?" Allison asked sarcastically. "Then why do you and John bicker so much?"
"Because he's an ass," she retorted.
"Because you both like to start shit with each other."
She was about to open her mouth to comment when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Oh, god..." she muttered to herself, forgetting the phone was still to her ear. She stood there frozen to the spot. She remembered she was on the phone when she heard Allison calling her.
"Claire? What's going on?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's just – I think John's here," she whispered into the mouth pieced.
"Well? Aren't you going to check?"
"Oh...yeah...bye." Claire hung up and walked over to answer the door numbly.
"Hey. What the hell took you so long?" Bender asked in a bored voice. He looked at her, noticing her discomfort. His eyes softened at her broken look. "What's wrong?"
"We need to talk."
Shit – he thought. Nothing good ever comes from someone you love uttering that one little line...
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