Stiff.
Ugh, my hands have been so stiff lately, and it's been making typing up my NaNo harder than ever. Especially since I write it all out by hand and THEN type it all up. It's kind of time-consuming and I know it's impacting my word count, but I just can't work on a computer. I get way too distracted, and I can't take it around with me. I got a lot done at the library today, for example. Anyway, quick update, changing the layout, and posting a new section of the story, and then I'm gone to read and write more, if I can bring myself to do it. +stretches+
If Faven hadn't been flustered enough by the random wave he had just received - from one of them nonetheless - he was then jerked through a closed storefront by a swift and strong tug on his coat sleeve, which wouldn't have knocked him down but for his previous surprise. He toppled immaterially through the locked door and onto the floor of a breakfast diner, narrowly avoiding smashing the two bottles in his left hand.
Pulling his free hand over his face to protect himself from whatever had thrown him into the restaurant, Faven cried out, “The hell!?”
“Dude. Dude. Man. Dude.”
Faven paused, then wiped his wrist across his forehead, and without opening his eyes, Faven mumbled, “Barry...”
“Dude, man, yeah! You seen old man Nicolai today?” Barry was a long, lanky young man who had overdosed on acid in nineteen seventy-three and whose vocabulary had not increased since the day he passed on.
Faven stood up and dusted himself off, setting the brown paper bad down on what would have been an occupied dining table any other day of the week. He adjusted hi waistcoat and corrected his friend.
“He's a monk, Barry, not just any old man. At least do him that respect and don't refer to him like he's some nutter who lives in a shack in Appalachia. But yes, I have.” He motioned to the table.
“Awesome, dude, awesome. So when -”
“Barry, shut up for two seconds, would you?” Faven stared out the glass door he had been pulled through only moments before and hoped the woman who was walking past didn't stare back. It was that girl who had waved to him on the street. She was alive, alright, there was no doubt about it. But there was also no doubt that she had seen him, and there was no doubt that he was dead. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she walked past. She was different, she could see him...
“She's pretty,” Barry muttered. “Who is she?”
“I have no idea.”
But he meant to find out.
A young woman carefully descended the steps from Hot Dogma down to Brother Nicolai's sanctuary. Her name was Janine, and she was a psychic. She would be the second person to learn what Pittsburgh was about to become.
“Brother Nicolai, I have your lunch. We ran out of mustard, I hope you don't mind...”
There was a panicked rustling of paper from just beyond the wine cellar, and a sound like a book being slammed shut.
No longer confined to a shuffle in his haste, Brother Nicolai rushed from his library to the cellar, almost knocking Janine down in his rush.
“Forget lunch, Janine. There are more pressing matters at hand.”
“Brother?”
“The veil has begun to thin.”
~*~
“I believe she can see me, Barry.”
“What, she's like a psychic or something?”
Faven paused. He had to admit, he hadn't through of the possibility of th red-haired girl being psychic. There were plenty of them; Janine, one of the waitresses at Hot Dogma was terribly psychic, and also terribly generous. She was living, and she could see the dead almost as well as she could see her own kind. She also frequently snuck lunch for Faven and his friends. But this red-haired girl...she didn't feet the same as Janine. She didn't look at him the saem way.
“I don't...I supposed it's possible..she doesn't...” Faven took a sip of wine. Barry and he had set up at a table in the diner Faven had tumbled into, borrowing two glasses from the kitchen. Brother Nicolai's wine was rich and sweet, and older than the city itself. It was wine for the dead. Barry and Faven were becoming mildly intoxicated as they sipped it slowly, and Faven's already clouded head was becoming more and more fuzzy, and it wasn't helping his thought process.
“I dunno, man. If she's not psychic, then she can't see us, right? I mean, that's just the way it is. Right?”
“That's what I thougt. I don't know. Maybe she can't see us. Maybe she can just see me?”
“Nah, can't be. What makes you so special?”
“I...just...nothing, I guess.”
“Welp...” Barry took a long chug from his wine glass. “You could just follow her...y'know?”
Faven set his glass on the table.
“Barry. Watch my things.”
~*~
Lilla had successfully dumped a week's worth of Netflix in the mailbox by the post office, which would ensure the quickest delivery. She had withdrawn her spending money for the week from the ATM, which ensured that she would not break the bank when she paid the rent next week. She considered dumping her library books in the drop slot and beginning to make her way home, but the thought of Maggie's angry presence led her to wander around the stacks of downtown branch of Carnegie library, not really looking for anything at all. She slunk around in fiction, occasionally grabbing for a book whose title caught her attention and then invariable putting it back when it ended up being a romance novel.
Running her hand through her hair, Lilla sighed. She leaded against the stack behind her and surveyed the titles in the stack in front, but she wasn't really reading. She was thinking. Lilla wasn't even sure why Maggie was bothering her so much. She knew from the start Maggie could be short-tempered. They'd been sharing the house for almost a year now, and none of her roommate's idiosyncrasies had ever bothered Lilla like the before. Maggie never did dishes and Lilla never vacuumed, and that was how it had always been. They bother bitched and they both got over it. But today Lilla had snapped. She'd told Maggie to shove it, gathered her bag, and stormed out of the house.
Lately, Lilla had felt tense, as though something in the air had been pressing down on her and pulling her apart at the same time. She'd just felt stretched too thin lately. It was almost like there was a dark curtain hanging over her head, keeping the good feelings out and the bad feelings in, like bad karma asbestos.
“Hey...”
Lilla thought she heard a whisper. Blinking away her thoughts, Lilla surveyed the stack. There was no one in the row with her, no one's way she was in.
“Um...hey...”
She heard the whisper again and looked straight into the stack in front of her. There was a green eye peering back at her.
“Are you serious?” Lilla mumbled. “What is this, The X-Files?”
“Hey, there,” the eye said.
“Hello?”
“Uh. Hi. It's me. You... uh... you had waved.”
“Oh, you!” Okay. Hi. I have no idea who you are,” Lilla confessed, “I'm not even sure why I waved,” she added shyly. She began to slowly walk to the row from where the green eye was speaking.
“So... you really can see me then?” the man attached to the eye asked, and Lilla wasn't quite sure what he meant. She could see him now that she had invaded his hiding place, however. He was tall, with brown hair tied back loosely into a ponytail. His skin was olive-toned and he had only one bright green eye. The other lid was closed and limp, and there were thin, wispy scars all along the right side of his face. He looked unusual, and Lilla wasn't sure whether it was just the missing eye or something. He didn't, however, look like the kind of man who didn't expect to be seen. He waved a small, polite wave and Lilla saw that he had long, spindly fingers and very articulated knuckles.
Lilla extended her own hand and said, “I'm Lillian. Most people called me Lilla.”
He took her hand and, shaking it, he gently touched his fingertips to her wrist.
“Faven,”
“Pleasure.”
“I certainly hope so,” he smiled coyly, “So you can see me, hear me, and touch me.”
“Lilla smiled awkwardly. Her brain was trying to work out whether this man was some kind of hermit, come down from the mountains for a day, or a sexual deviant, or just eccentric. Perhaps he was a drunk? A drug addict? She didn't want to be rude, but everything he had spoken of, even the questioning motion he had made on the sidewalk when she had waved, seemed to be surprise at her visual ability. She said what she was thinking.
“Should I not see you?”
Faven bit his lip, then said, “That depends. Are you a medium?”
“A medium what?” Lilla said, thinking that she was actually a petite.
“A medium...a psychic.”
She laughed quite loudly, then, almost shocked at the noise she had made, clasped her own hand over her mouth as though the librarians would swoop down upon her like flying monkeys. Lilla answered, much more softly, “No, sir, I don't believe so. I'm not even sure I believe in that New-Agey fluffy stuff.”
Faven looked to his shoes, then up to Lilla's eyes again.
“Oh - oh, I'm sorry,” Lilla said, “I didn't mean... I didn't mean to offend you... your beliefs...” she let her voice trail off apologetically.
“It's not that, my dear,” Faven said. “It's just, then I don't know why.”
Lilla stepped back cautiously, “Why what?”
“Why you can see the dead.”
~*~
Janine stopped Brother Nicolai in his tracks.
“Brother, that's not - I mean - I would have... There should have been signs! I should have been able to sense them, to pick up on this. I've been waiting my whole life for this!”
“Janine, girl. I love you like the offspring I gave up for the Lord. But shut your mouth.” The monk pushed past the small woman and began to ascend the steps as fast as his legs could take him.
“Brother Nicolai!”
“Janine, just because you haven't seen the signs doesn't mean there were none,” he insisted as he continued to climb.
“Brother, I'm coming with you!” she called from behind.
“If you must!”
~*~
Lilla was storming down Smithfield Street, Faven in her wake.
“Lillian! Lillian, wait!” Faven called, his arms in the air.
Lilla spun around and faced him, but a good two yards stayed between the two. “Look, man, I don't know what the hell your deal is. Maybe fucking with girls is how you get your jollies, or maybe you're just fucked in the head, which from your commitment to this whole joke is probably the case, but whatever your game is, man, I don't want any fucking part of it,” she shouted, frantic. She threw her hands out as though this gesture had the power to push him further away, or to make him stay where he stood, as she spun on her heels and pounded pavement.
It did not. Faven appeared suddenly two feet ahead of Lilla, directly in her path.
“Lillian!”
She jumped back and shrieked, stumbling and landing on her ass. The jolt knocked the breath out of her and Faven purposefully but not maliciously back Lilla against a building.
“Look, though admittedly, I've got a bit of a leg-up on the situation from being the dead person and all, but I'm just as confused as you are, alright? The only live folks who have been able to see me since I died are psychics, and even some of them can't hear me. You're the first person who hasn't passed right through me in a long time - well, you and Janine, but she's spiritually one-foot-in already, if you know what I mean.
“No... I...”
“Right, whatever, that's not even the point. The point is, you're alive, I'm dad, you can't tell I'm dead, and neither of us knows why. Forgive my unabashed curiosity, but doesn't that make you... well... curious?”
Lilla's jaw hung slack after Faven's tirade, and she said nothing. Faven took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his coat.
“I'm... God... I'm sorry. Let me help you up.” He extended his hand. For a moment, Lilla did nothing. Then, slowly, she reached out to him. He took her hand, and just like when they had shaken, he was solid, and he pulled her from the ground. Lilla brushed herself off and stared at the sidewalk.
“Lillian?”
“This is fucking ridiculous. And it's Lilla.” She scuffed at the ground.
~*~
Maggie stood over the sink, scowling at the pile of dirty dishes, and symbolically scowling at Lilla. In her hands she held a bowl with the crusty, milky remnants of her oatmeal. There was no room in the sink for Maggie to discard it. She could stack it on top of a tall column of plates, that was true, but it wouldn't be able to soak, and more than that, she feared the dishes might topple and crash and shatter; the stack was not very stable.
“Dammit,” she said quickly and quietly and set her bowl on the counter beside the sink. Maggie began to roll up her sleeves.
It was true, Maggie had never actually done dishes before. She had rinsed them off in her parents house, and then loaded them into a dishwasher, and in college, she hadn't actually owned any non-disposable dishes. She had watched Lilla wash them a few times, but she did them absurdly quickly and Maggie could never follow how she managed to soak, wash, rinse, and stick a dish in the rack without splashing water everywhere or overflowing the sink.
Maggie delved her hand into the water, which felt thick and slimy. She swished it around a little and several chunks of softened, forgotten food floated up to the surface. Maggie quickly withdrew her hand, cringing.
“I can't. I just can't do it.” She flicked the groady water off of her hand desperately, holding it a fair distance away from the rest of her body, as though the water-logged food particles could somehow infect the rest of her skin. She grabbed a dish towel of uncertain cleanliness and scrubbed the water off of her arm.
From the living room came a chirping noise. The house phone, seldom used in favor of cell phones and only kept around to provide a better deal on cable and Internet prices, was ringing. Maggie pitched the dish towel onto the drying rack and made a break for the living room. She reached the phone on the third ring and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, is that Maggie?” It was a man's voice that Maggie couldn't place immediately.
“Speaking.”
“Hey, Maggie, is Lilla there?”
Maggie sat down on the couch with a soft 'oof'. “Kevin? Is that your? No, Lilla's not here, and even if she was, I doubt she would take this call.” Maggie was angry with Lilla, but if she planned on punishing her, this was not how she was going to do it. Kevin was Lilla's ex, and a grade-A five-star asshole. He had cheated on Lilla, twice, and she had forgiven him the first time, but twice was too many. Kevin had come by one night, about a week after Lilla had dumped him. He was drunk, and he had come to apologize, but in the process, he had not only smashed the back bumper of Maggie's car as he pulled up to the house, but, while waiting for Lilla to return from work, Kevin seemed to forget his apologetic purpose and began to put the moves on Maggie, going so far and being so forceful as to grab her by the collar of her shirt and pop off several buttons as Maggie tried to get away. Lilla didn't deserve to be put through Kevin's antics ever again.
Nevertheless, Kevin persisted. “Look, I just want to talk to her. Lilla was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and I've gotta let her know that. I've gotta let her know I'm sorry,” he pleaded.
“Then you've got her cell phone number, Kevin.”
“She won't answer.”
“There you go,” Maggie sighed. “Look, I'll tell her you called, but that's it. If she wants to call you back, she can.”
“Look, just tell her -”
“I'll tell her that you called,” Maggie said with finality in her tone and hung up.
Maggie slouched into the cushions of the couch. “Oh man.”
There's a lot there, I know. Haven't been updating like I should. :\ More later, if I can make my hands stop hurting.
If Faven hadn't been flustered enough by the random wave he had just received - from one of them nonetheless - he was then jerked through a closed storefront by a swift and strong tug on his coat sleeve, which wouldn't have knocked him down but for his previous surprise. He toppled immaterially through the locked door and onto the floor of a breakfast diner, narrowly avoiding smashing the two bottles in his left hand.
Pulling his free hand over his face to protect himself from whatever had thrown him into the restaurant, Faven cried out, “The hell!?”
“Dude. Dude. Man. Dude.”
Faven paused, then wiped his wrist across his forehead, and without opening his eyes, Faven mumbled, “Barry...”
“Dude, man, yeah! You seen old man Nicolai today?” Barry was a long, lanky young man who had overdosed on acid in nineteen seventy-three and whose vocabulary had not increased since the day he passed on.
Faven stood up and dusted himself off, setting the brown paper bad down on what would have been an occupied dining table any other day of the week. He adjusted hi waistcoat and corrected his friend.
“He's a monk, Barry, not just any old man. At least do him that respect and don't refer to him like he's some nutter who lives in a shack in Appalachia. But yes, I have.” He motioned to the table.
“Awesome, dude, awesome. So when -”
“Barry, shut up for two seconds, would you?” Faven stared out the glass door he had been pulled through only moments before and hoped the woman who was walking past didn't stare back. It was that girl who had waved to him on the street. She was alive, alright, there was no doubt about it. But there was also no doubt that she had seen him, and there was no doubt that he was dead. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she walked past. She was different, she could see him...
“She's pretty,” Barry muttered. “Who is she?”
“I have no idea.”
But he meant to find out.
A young woman carefully descended the steps from Hot Dogma down to Brother Nicolai's sanctuary. Her name was Janine, and she was a psychic. She would be the second person to learn what Pittsburgh was about to become.
“Brother Nicolai, I have your lunch. We ran out of mustard, I hope you don't mind...”
There was a panicked rustling of paper from just beyond the wine cellar, and a sound like a book being slammed shut.
No longer confined to a shuffle in his haste, Brother Nicolai rushed from his library to the cellar, almost knocking Janine down in his rush.
“Forget lunch, Janine. There are more pressing matters at hand.”
“Brother?”
“The veil has begun to thin.”
~*~
“I believe she can see me, Barry.”
“What, she's like a psychic or something?”
Faven paused. He had to admit, he hadn't through of the possibility of th red-haired girl being psychic. There were plenty of them; Janine, one of the waitresses at Hot Dogma was terribly psychic, and also terribly generous. She was living, and she could see the dead almost as well as she could see her own kind. She also frequently snuck lunch for Faven and his friends. But this red-haired girl...she didn't feet the same as Janine. She didn't look at him the saem way.
“I don't...I supposed it's possible..she doesn't...” Faven took a sip of wine. Barry and he had set up at a table in the diner Faven had tumbled into, borrowing two glasses from the kitchen. Brother Nicolai's wine was rich and sweet, and older than the city itself. It was wine for the dead. Barry and Faven were becoming mildly intoxicated as they sipped it slowly, and Faven's already clouded head was becoming more and more fuzzy, and it wasn't helping his thought process.
“I dunno, man. If she's not psychic, then she can't see us, right? I mean, that's just the way it is. Right?”
“That's what I thougt. I don't know. Maybe she can't see us. Maybe she can just see me?”
“Nah, can't be. What makes you so special?”
“I...just...nothing, I guess.”
“Welp...” Barry took a long chug from his wine glass. “You could just follow her...y'know?”
Faven set his glass on the table.
“Barry. Watch my things.”
~*~
Lilla had successfully dumped a week's worth of Netflix in the mailbox by the post office, which would ensure the quickest delivery. She had withdrawn her spending money for the week from the ATM, which ensured that she would not break the bank when she paid the rent next week. She considered dumping her library books in the drop slot and beginning to make her way home, but the thought of Maggie's angry presence led her to wander around the stacks of downtown branch of Carnegie library, not really looking for anything at all. She slunk around in fiction, occasionally grabbing for a book whose title caught her attention and then invariable putting it back when it ended up being a romance novel.
Running her hand through her hair, Lilla sighed. She leaded against the stack behind her and surveyed the titles in the stack in front, but she wasn't really reading. She was thinking. Lilla wasn't even sure why Maggie was bothering her so much. She knew from the start Maggie could be short-tempered. They'd been sharing the house for almost a year now, and none of her roommate's idiosyncrasies had ever bothered Lilla like the before. Maggie never did dishes and Lilla never vacuumed, and that was how it had always been. They bother bitched and they both got over it. But today Lilla had snapped. She'd told Maggie to shove it, gathered her bag, and stormed out of the house.
Lately, Lilla had felt tense, as though something in the air had been pressing down on her and pulling her apart at the same time. She'd just felt stretched too thin lately. It was almost like there was a dark curtain hanging over her head, keeping the good feelings out and the bad feelings in, like bad karma asbestos.
“Hey...”
Lilla thought she heard a whisper. Blinking away her thoughts, Lilla surveyed the stack. There was no one in the row with her, no one's way she was in.
“Um...hey...”
She heard the whisper again and looked straight into the stack in front of her. There was a green eye peering back at her.
“Are you serious?” Lilla mumbled. “What is this, The X-Files?”
“Hey, there,” the eye said.
“Hello?”
“Uh. Hi. It's me. You... uh... you had waved.”
“Oh, you!” Okay. Hi. I have no idea who you are,” Lilla confessed, “I'm not even sure why I waved,” she added shyly. She began to slowly walk to the row from where the green eye was speaking.
“So... you really can see me then?” the man attached to the eye asked, and Lilla wasn't quite sure what he meant. She could see him now that she had invaded his hiding place, however. He was tall, with brown hair tied back loosely into a ponytail. His skin was olive-toned and he had only one bright green eye. The other lid was closed and limp, and there were thin, wispy scars all along the right side of his face. He looked unusual, and Lilla wasn't sure whether it was just the missing eye or something. He didn't, however, look like the kind of man who didn't expect to be seen. He waved a small, polite wave and Lilla saw that he had long, spindly fingers and very articulated knuckles.
Lilla extended her own hand and said, “I'm Lillian. Most people called me Lilla.”
He took her hand and, shaking it, he gently touched his fingertips to her wrist.
“Faven,”
“Pleasure.”
“I certainly hope so,” he smiled coyly, “So you can see me, hear me, and touch me.”
“Lilla smiled awkwardly. Her brain was trying to work out whether this man was some kind of hermit, come down from the mountains for a day, or a sexual deviant, or just eccentric. Perhaps he was a drunk? A drug addict? She didn't want to be rude, but everything he had spoken of, even the questioning motion he had made on the sidewalk when she had waved, seemed to be surprise at her visual ability. She said what she was thinking.
“Should I not see you?”
Faven bit his lip, then said, “That depends. Are you a medium?”
“A medium what?” Lilla said, thinking that she was actually a petite.
“A medium...a psychic.”
She laughed quite loudly, then, almost shocked at the noise she had made, clasped her own hand over her mouth as though the librarians would swoop down upon her like flying monkeys. Lilla answered, much more softly, “No, sir, I don't believe so. I'm not even sure I believe in that New-Agey fluffy stuff.”
Faven looked to his shoes, then up to Lilla's eyes again.
“Oh - oh, I'm sorry,” Lilla said, “I didn't mean... I didn't mean to offend you... your beliefs...” she let her voice trail off apologetically.
“It's not that, my dear,” Faven said. “It's just, then I don't know why.”
Lilla stepped back cautiously, “Why what?”
“Why you can see the dead.”
~*~
Janine stopped Brother Nicolai in his tracks.
“Brother, that's not - I mean - I would have... There should have been signs! I should have been able to sense them, to pick up on this. I've been waiting my whole life for this!”
“Janine, girl. I love you like the offspring I gave up for the Lord. But shut your mouth.” The monk pushed past the small woman and began to ascend the steps as fast as his legs could take him.
“Brother Nicolai!”
“Janine, just because you haven't seen the signs doesn't mean there were none,” he insisted as he continued to climb.
“Brother, I'm coming with you!” she called from behind.
“If you must!”
~*~
Lilla was storming down Smithfield Street, Faven in her wake.
“Lillian! Lillian, wait!” Faven called, his arms in the air.
Lilla spun around and faced him, but a good two yards stayed between the two. “Look, man, I don't know what the hell your deal is. Maybe fucking with girls is how you get your jollies, or maybe you're just fucked in the head, which from your commitment to this whole joke is probably the case, but whatever your game is, man, I don't want any fucking part of it,” she shouted, frantic. She threw her hands out as though this gesture had the power to push him further away, or to make him stay where he stood, as she spun on her heels and pounded pavement.
It did not. Faven appeared suddenly two feet ahead of Lilla, directly in her path.
“Lillian!”
She jumped back and shrieked, stumbling and landing on her ass. The jolt knocked the breath out of her and Faven purposefully but not maliciously back Lilla against a building.
“Look, though admittedly, I've got a bit of a leg-up on the situation from being the dead person and all, but I'm just as confused as you are, alright? The only live folks who have been able to see me since I died are psychics, and even some of them can't hear me. You're the first person who hasn't passed right through me in a long time - well, you and Janine, but she's spiritually one-foot-in already, if you know what I mean.
“No... I...”
“Right, whatever, that's not even the point. The point is, you're alive, I'm dad, you can't tell I'm dead, and neither of us knows why. Forgive my unabashed curiosity, but doesn't that make you... well... curious?”
Lilla's jaw hung slack after Faven's tirade, and she said nothing. Faven took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his coat.
“I'm... God... I'm sorry. Let me help you up.” He extended his hand. For a moment, Lilla did nothing. Then, slowly, she reached out to him. He took her hand, and just like when they had shaken, he was solid, and he pulled her from the ground. Lilla brushed herself off and stared at the sidewalk.
“Lillian?”
“This is fucking ridiculous. And it's Lilla.” She scuffed at the ground.
~*~
Maggie stood over the sink, scowling at the pile of dirty dishes, and symbolically scowling at Lilla. In her hands she held a bowl with the crusty, milky remnants of her oatmeal. There was no room in the sink for Maggie to discard it. She could stack it on top of a tall column of plates, that was true, but it wouldn't be able to soak, and more than that, she feared the dishes might topple and crash and shatter; the stack was not very stable.
“Dammit,” she said quickly and quietly and set her bowl on the counter beside the sink. Maggie began to roll up her sleeves.
It was true, Maggie had never actually done dishes before. She had rinsed them off in her parents house, and then loaded them into a dishwasher, and in college, she hadn't actually owned any non-disposable dishes. She had watched Lilla wash them a few times, but she did them absurdly quickly and Maggie could never follow how she managed to soak, wash, rinse, and stick a dish in the rack without splashing water everywhere or overflowing the sink.
Maggie delved her hand into the water, which felt thick and slimy. She swished it around a little and several chunks of softened, forgotten food floated up to the surface. Maggie quickly withdrew her hand, cringing.
“I can't. I just can't do it.” She flicked the groady water off of her hand desperately, holding it a fair distance away from the rest of her body, as though the water-logged food particles could somehow infect the rest of her skin. She grabbed a dish towel of uncertain cleanliness and scrubbed the water off of her arm.
From the living room came a chirping noise. The house phone, seldom used in favor of cell phones and only kept around to provide a better deal on cable and Internet prices, was ringing. Maggie pitched the dish towel onto the drying rack and made a break for the living room. She reached the phone on the third ring and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, is that Maggie?” It was a man's voice that Maggie couldn't place immediately.
“Speaking.”
“Hey, Maggie, is Lilla there?”
Maggie sat down on the couch with a soft 'oof'. “Kevin? Is that your? No, Lilla's not here, and even if she was, I doubt she would take this call.” Maggie was angry with Lilla, but if she planned on punishing her, this was not how she was going to do it. Kevin was Lilla's ex, and a grade-A five-star asshole. He had cheated on Lilla, twice, and she had forgiven him the first time, but twice was too many. Kevin had come by one night, about a week after Lilla had dumped him. He was drunk, and he had come to apologize, but in the process, he had not only smashed the back bumper of Maggie's car as he pulled up to the house, but, while waiting for Lilla to return from work, Kevin seemed to forget his apologetic purpose and began to put the moves on Maggie, going so far and being so forceful as to grab her by the collar of her shirt and pop off several buttons as Maggie tried to get away. Lilla didn't deserve to be put through Kevin's antics ever again.
Nevertheless, Kevin persisted. “Look, I just want to talk to her. Lilla was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and I've gotta let her know that. I've gotta let her know I'm sorry,” he pleaded.
“Then you've got her cell phone number, Kevin.”
“She won't answer.”
“There you go,” Maggie sighed. “Look, I'll tell her you called, but that's it. If she wants to call you back, she can.”
“Look, just tell her -”
“I'll tell her that you called,” Maggie said with finality in her tone and hung up.
Maggie slouched into the cushions of the couch. “Oh man.”
There's a lot there, I know. Haven't been updating like I should. :\ More later, if I can make my hands stop hurting.