She had been playing with the phone all night, picking it up, almost dialing and slamming the receiver down again. It seemed ridiculous. Eventually, biting her lip, she made her fingers dial.
"Hello?"
Words froze on her lips. To apologize would sound pathetic, and self-serving. But yet sorry was the only word she had.
"It's me,"
She said eventually, and waited for him to put the phone down. She wouldn't blame him, but had been persuaded to try this by Chen's convictions.
"I thought it might be,"
His coldness didn't surprise her, but she hated it nonetheless. She wasn't used to being the one trying to bridge the divide.
"About today…"
She began uselessly, trailing off into another awkward silence. The phone cord twisted round her fingers until it hurt, just to keep her grounded.
"Don't grovel, Abby, it doesn't suit,"
Try as she might, it was difficult not to be hurt by his barb.
"I couldn't just leave it,"
"Can't you see that's exactly what you should do?"
"But you…you hate me…"
She implored, hating how pathetic she sounded. Her fingers were turning purple knotted tight in the cord, but she didn't care.
"No, Abby, I love you. The question here is – do you love me?"
The phone on the other end clicked down without waiting for a reply, leaving her fuming at nothing. They couldn't carry on having half-conversations, stilted and awkward. Like gawky teenagers, it just seemed ridiculous. She untied the phone cord and slammed the receiver back into its cradle, irrationally angry.
She wanted to drink and she wanted to cry but both would be pointless and self-destructive. For a few minutes, she paced a hole in her rug, before she grabbed her jacket and stormed out. She made sure the door slammed behind her in a purely self-indulgent, childish fit of temper.
Her feet pounded the pavement mercilessly, anger and frustration at herself making her dig her hands in her pockets and drive onwards. She thought her pacing directionless.
But then she found herself raising her hand to knock on her boyfriends door. Inside, she was wound to a tight spring, and she wasn't sure what she would do if he answered. Half of her was running over ways to break up with him, and the other half was going to pin him against the wall and get the answers she badly needed. Would she feel alive when he kissed her the ways she had on that balcony?
But no answer came, as her anger ebbed away until she just felt cold and slightly stupid standing there. She felt disappointed, almost jilted.
Whoever snuck out the shadows as she exited the building didn't know her, why she came to be in the building or that she had nothing on her more valuable that her apartment keys. He didn't speak to her. He slid his hand into her pocket and when she swung to defend herself, he mercilessly batted her away and threw her rag doll body aside. She tumbled helplessly to the foot of the stairs and lay there, broken. He slunk back from whence he came, stepping over his victim on his way out.
In a state of half-consciousness, as she lay on the landing, bruised, bloodied and shamed, it wasn't her boyfriend she wanted to save her. It was the man she'd fought with less than an hour ago, the man who's angry words had in part driven her here. It was his name she half-mumbled as pain overtook her, throbbing in her head like an incessant drumbeat.
Reality drifted in and out during the next hours, from being found there, helpless and alone, to the journey to the hospital. She was aware of being spoken to, of being treated, but much as she focused the faces and voices remained blurred and distant. She wanted to reach out and touch them, prove to herself that they weren't just incoherent hallucinations, but she couldn't. Her arms wouldn't move on command. She was trapped in her own immoveable body, and fear took hold. A fear that she wouldn't make it through and that the images she was seeing, the words she was half-hearing would be the last she'd ever see or hear.
And then there was nothing but the drifting emptiness of limbo that exists between life and death, between consciousness and coma. The full and enveloping darkness of space, when time is irrelevant and nothing means anything, not even pain. All you know is the uselessness of your own mortal body, and the memories that flicker past your closed eyelids – close enough to touch, but irritatingly out of reach.
"Hello?"
Words froze on her lips. To apologize would sound pathetic, and self-serving. But yet sorry was the only word she had.
"It's me,"
She said eventually, and waited for him to put the phone down. She wouldn't blame him, but had been persuaded to try this by Chen's convictions.
"I thought it might be,"
His coldness didn't surprise her, but she hated it nonetheless. She wasn't used to being the one trying to bridge the divide.
"About today…"
She began uselessly, trailing off into another awkward silence. The phone cord twisted round her fingers until it hurt, just to keep her grounded.
"Don't grovel, Abby, it doesn't suit,"
Try as she might, it was difficult not to be hurt by his barb.
"I couldn't just leave it,"
"Can't you see that's exactly what you should do?"
"But you…you hate me…"
She implored, hating how pathetic she sounded. Her fingers were turning purple knotted tight in the cord, but she didn't care.
"No, Abby, I love you. The question here is – do you love me?"
The phone on the other end clicked down without waiting for a reply, leaving her fuming at nothing. They couldn't carry on having half-conversations, stilted and awkward. Like gawky teenagers, it just seemed ridiculous. She untied the phone cord and slammed the receiver back into its cradle, irrationally angry.
She wanted to drink and she wanted to cry but both would be pointless and self-destructive. For a few minutes, she paced a hole in her rug, before she grabbed her jacket and stormed out. She made sure the door slammed behind her in a purely self-indulgent, childish fit of temper.
Her feet pounded the pavement mercilessly, anger and frustration at herself making her dig her hands in her pockets and drive onwards. She thought her pacing directionless.
But then she found herself raising her hand to knock on her boyfriends door. Inside, she was wound to a tight spring, and she wasn't sure what she would do if he answered. Half of her was running over ways to break up with him, and the other half was going to pin him against the wall and get the answers she badly needed. Would she feel alive when he kissed her the ways she had on that balcony?
But no answer came, as her anger ebbed away until she just felt cold and slightly stupid standing there. She felt disappointed, almost jilted.
Whoever snuck out the shadows as she exited the building didn't know her, why she came to be in the building or that she had nothing on her more valuable that her apartment keys. He didn't speak to her. He slid his hand into her pocket and when she swung to defend herself, he mercilessly batted her away and threw her rag doll body aside. She tumbled helplessly to the foot of the stairs and lay there, broken. He slunk back from whence he came, stepping over his victim on his way out.
In a state of half-consciousness, as she lay on the landing, bruised, bloodied and shamed, it wasn't her boyfriend she wanted to save her. It was the man she'd fought with less than an hour ago, the man who's angry words had in part driven her here. It was his name she half-mumbled as pain overtook her, throbbing in her head like an incessant drumbeat.
Reality drifted in and out during the next hours, from being found there, helpless and alone, to the journey to the hospital. She was aware of being spoken to, of being treated, but much as she focused the faces and voices remained blurred and distant. She wanted to reach out and touch them, prove to herself that they weren't just incoherent hallucinations, but she couldn't. Her arms wouldn't move on command. She was trapped in her own immoveable body, and fear took hold. A fear that she wouldn't make it through and that the images she was seeing, the words she was half-hearing would be the last she'd ever see or hear.
And then there was nothing but the drifting emptiness of limbo that exists between life and death, between consciousness and coma. The full and enveloping darkness of space, when time is irrelevant and nothing means anything, not even pain. All you know is the uselessness of your own mortal body, and the memories that flicker past your closed eyelids – close enough to touch, but irritatingly out of reach.