Alive
By: Aviantei
17 mph
I powered down the phone that Cunningham knows the number to and tossed it into a corner of my penthouse to rot. If it wasn't for the fact that a couple of other contacts knew that number, I would've just canceled the contract on it, but that would be a waste. Plus if I go that far, then Mariya will definitely know that something's up, and I sure as hell don't have the energy to put up with her pestering along with the storm of my emotions.
I don't have energy for anything, if we're being honest here.
It's not my first emotional slump, but it sure doesn't make it any less of a bitch to put up with. The world is drenched in gray. I lost my best source of excitement. I made such a big show of it that I'd be worried that Cunningham would go ahead and finally call the cops on me if he weren't such an earnest guy. He told me that wasn't a threat anymore. Even my being a drama queen and a total bitch won't change that.
Lying on my couch, arm draped over my eyes, I start to feel my lips quirk up into a smile. Then I stop myself. Why am I just making this harder on myself? If I look back on it fondly, it'll just be more difficult to get over this. It's much better to chalk it up to the latest era in my life and forget about the details. Eventually, I'll get involved with something stupid and dangerous enough that everything with Cunningham won't matter.
There has to be something in this godforsaken world that will make me feel alive again—
The ring of a phone interrupts my thoughts. I try to figure out what sort of witchcraft Mariya pulled off to turn on one of my phones to contact me—once I realized her pestering was a possibility, I went ahead and shut down every damn piece of electronics in my house after I got home from Cunningham's. What's worse is that, no matter how much I ignore her, she won't stop. Mariya has no qualms about losing out on sleep for a battle of attrition.
Except it's not the ringtone of one of my cellphones.
It's the landline.
"Fuck!" I scramble to get up, thoroughly tied up in my blankets. I look a mess with just a baggy tank top and some underwear on, and my hair is beyond tangled, but that doesn't matter when you're on the phone. And even though my landline is basically a relic from a whole other era, it works well enough. Dad insisted that I had one for family use, just in case they couldn't get ahold of me otherwise. I'm sure Mariya has the thing's number, but she knows better than to do that.
But if one of them's calling, then—
"Hello?"
"Oh, there you are, Kir!" It's Caleb on the other line, his voice still in the high ranges of tenor, but still sounding a bit older than the last time we called. Living on opposite ends of the country, it's hard for me to remember that he's not a little squirt anymore. "Are you okay? You sound out of breath."
I push a hand through my bangs (way too fucking greasy, ew) and try to steady myself on the dresser without knocking over the phone cradle or lamp. "I just jogged over to the phone. I'm fine," I say, trying to sound like far less of a wreck than I actually am. Not that that will last long if this conversation goes the way I think it will. But I'm the oldest sister, so I should at least try to keep my act together. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
I must only half succeed at sounding put together, because Caleb makes that little worried sound in the back of his throat. "I'm okay. I just wanted to talk to you. I haven't heard from you forever. And Nate said you'd talked to him a few weeks ago, so I thought I'd give you a call, but then your phone went straight to voice mail and you didn't call me back, so Dad said I should try the house phone and it worked!"
A breath that I've been holding rushes out of me in relief. Dad suggested calling. That means there isn't a crisis. Glad that our call doesn't have a video component, I prop myself against the nearest wall and let myself sink down it. "Sorry about that, little man. I've been having some technical issues. I didn't mean to worry you."
"It's alright, I get to talk to you now!" Caleb sounds beyond pleased, and I don't have it in me to argue. Thanks to his social media posts, I've gotten to watch him grow up even with states between us, and I can imagine the dimple in his smile even without seeing it. "Did you hear? I'm gonna test for my license soon."
"Oh, yeah?" This time, when the smile tugs at my lips, I let it. Being happy about my family is okay, because those memories aren't tainted. Not when it comes to Nate and Caleb or Dad. Not even memories of Mom are difficult, though they sometimes bring pain along for the ride. "I'm impressed. Dad decided you're not a hazard to society enough to consider letting you behind the wheel on your own?"
Though I'm sure that everything's fine on their end, I toss in a mention of Dad, just to be sure. Caleb may be the youngest of us, but he's already in high school, plus he's smart enough anyways. He probably realizes what I'm doing, but he doesn't complain. "Geez, I'm not as bad as you were! Dad says I'm way better." Good, things are okay. Now stop looking for places where you think everything is gonna blow up. "I'm still mad over that one time you took a turn too fast, and I lost my ice cream!"
This kid's memory is an iron trap; he was, what—seven when that happened? Of course, I had to clean up the mess in the backseat for it. Not that I ever learned my lesson to be safe. "Ah, yes, naturally. You in your infinite wisdom are the safest driver ever, in memorandum of your poor, fallen ice cream cone. Have you told your friends about that loss? Do they know not to be total idiots behind the wheel so that they can honor the sacrifice?"
"Oh my god, Kir." I can see the flush of red creeping up Caleb's neck, even when we're a whole country apart. As the older sister, it's my duty to embarrass the crap out of my little brothers whenever I can. Lovingly, of course, but still. "Remind me again, do you happen to drive anywhere out there? Or have you been banned to public transport, yet?"
I don't need to drive when I can cruise in a super fancy car while— Ah, hell no. I can't think that. Cunningham's not my friend anymore. I will never nap on that criminally comfortable passenger's seat again. Yeah, that's the real shame. "You should know by now that if I wanted to make public transport dangerous and exciting, I very well could."
"Nate was right. You are the worst influence ever." His joking tone still makes it through his attempt at sounding serious. I could be worse, all things considered. "Oh, yeah! I was wondering, could you help me out with something for his birthday? There's some stuff I need, but…"
I know where this is going. Caleb is the most creative little sucker I have ever seen, which means that most of his gifts for us are handmade art projects. The caveat is that those require art supplies, and, while Dad does his best, the really nice stuff is pricey. Naturally, it's my fault that Caleb even likes using the fancy stuff thanks to my habit of tossing money about like it's water, but still.
For once, I try to put on a "responsible big sister" voice. "And exactly how much of this is actually going to go into making the gift, and how much is to replenish your personal collection?"
"I promise I'm not going overboard! I'm just really running low on a lot of stuff!"
"Mmmhmmm," I say, drawing out the sound. Caleb almost lets out a whine on the other end. "Well, I wouldn't be spoiling my baby brothers very much if I couldn't dump some cash to help out with a birthday gift. Just send me links to what you need, and I'll take care of it. Oh, and be a spy for me and figure out whatever Nate wants." My original plan was to get him some Velshtein autographs, but that's not a convenient option anymore. "Don't let him say something lame like helping out with tuition or whatever. I'm planning on doing that anyways."
Caleb makes a sound of partway absent agreement, probably already daydreaming about all the pricey things I'm going to be paying for shortly. Might as well if I can. "You're the best, Kir. I may even forgive you for the ice cream." I snort, and the sound is so liberating, a reminder that, even when everything else is gray as fuck, I still have the ability to laugh, to live. "Oh! Dad's been wondering when you're gonna head our way for the party. I told him I'd ask."
It takes me a moment to try and pull up my mental calendar, which is even more difficult considering that the past couple of days have blended together. We're only a few weeks away from Nate's birthday now, and my usual tradition is to come home for at least a week for special events like that. I was planning the same for this year, since that wouldn't interfere too much, but now my schedule's blown wide open. "I haven't picked yet," I say, knowing full well I should get on that. "But I'll work on sorting it out once I'm working on buying your stuff, and I'll call him when I figure something out, alright?" That'll be a good project to distract myself with. Family things.
Going home.
If nothing else will give my mind a hard reset, that will. Flashes of color come easier back there, and it'll be nice to forget all our problems. Just go ahead and blow some money on making Nate's birthday more extravagant than the last. Help Dad out a bit. See Caleb before he's no longer a teenager anymore. And then when I come back here, to IGPX City, I can have a clear head and see what next adventure life will give me.
"Alright, I'll let him know," Caleb says, reporting for duty as usual. I can't help but wonder if he and Nate are so responsible to counter my nonsense. "I should probably get going, though. I have some homework to take care of. I just wanted to check on you. And I'll be sure to send you those links soon. Don't forget, Kir!"
"I won't, I won't. Go take care of your stuff. I love you, Caleb."
"I love you, too!"
And with that cheerful sendoff, the call cuts off. I look at the landline and halfway consider unplugging it, too, just in case, but then I really would make everyone panic. If I don't want to make a mess of things with Cunningham, I can block his number. It's not that hard. I'll have to reconnect if I'm going to make some spectacular birthday plan, anyways. Might as well get to it.
I push myself up from the floor and drop the phone back into its cradle, stretching my arms towards the ceiling. I need a shower, and maybe some exercise. A decent meal. Maybe I'll go splurge on some fancy dinner. I need food, anyways—
I need pants, I conclude as the doorbell rings. I normally don't get guests in person, but talking to even a random stranger will do me some good. I'm able to swing by my bedroom quickly to find a pair of lounge pants and slip them on, almost hopping towards the door. Maybe a miracle occurred and Mariya actually left her room to come pester me. After that call with Caleb, the world feels full of possibilities.
I wrangle my tangled hair back into a messy bun and pull open the door. It turns out, the world is actually just a bitch.
Somehow, the person standing on the other side is Cunningham.
[Author's Notes]
At the time of this posting I am so close to finishing up this fic and I'm just screaming over here. Soon, you two. Soon.
I tried to balance out the angst and some family fluff in this chapter. Also Caleb makes a (on the phone) appearance! That's two of Kirsten's family members in the fray. Personally, I love writing her brothers. They're loads of fun.
Dat cliffhanger tho, right?
Next time, Cunningham is here! How will this work out? I know, and you'll know next Saturday. Please look forward to it!
-Avi
[08.26.2019]
