Page 119 of Abyss

Did I overlook a subtle clue or hesitation from her in my eagerness to believe we were okay? Or was I too preoccupied with everything going on in Portland to realize we weren’t?

“Fuck.” I curse under my breath, loud enough for Aaron to meet my eyes through the rearview mirror.

My leg bounces restlessly as I wait for him to turn into my entryway, each passing second feeling like an eternity. As soon as he comes to a stop, my feet hit the pavement and I rush through the double doors of my building, anxiety and foreboding thrumming through my veins, echoing the drumming of my heart.

Every step forward feels like one toward the unknown, yet I’m inexorably pulled to it with an urgent need to know. To uncover the truth for myself.

Instinct, suspicion, or just plain nerves twist my stomach into knots, but I push through, intent on getting to her. Finding her.

She said we’d talk tonight. Didn’t she? I scroll through fragments of my memories from the past few days, recalling our agreement to talk tonight. Or did she?

I repeatedly jab my finger into the button for my floor, as if my impatience will make the elevator move any faster, all the while noting my agitated stance. My shoulders are bunched, a furrow between my brows reflects back at me from the polished stainless-steel doors. I shift uncomfortably on my feet.

She quit?

Sure, she only had a week left, but to just quit without so much as a warning? It doesn’t seem right. She’s never spared my feelings in the past, having been brutally honest when I’ve fucked up. So why not offer me that same honesty before quitting?

Something isn’t adding up.

Hurried feet take me to my door and I wrangle my key into the lock, swinging it open and noting how even the air feels different inside.

Still.

Vacant.

Lacking the warmth that was here just last week.

Silence reverberates like a cacophony over every space my eyes wander, and I immediately gather the changes.

Like the lack of her baking sheets and cake pans strewn across my kitchen counters. Like the missing lemon-printed hand towels hanging off my oven handle, giving my kitchen a splash of color.A splash of her.

Like the removed nightlights, no longer illuminating my hallways.

It’s like I’d instinctually known, even before I made my way up here. Like my brain had accounted for the missing limb before my body had processed it.

That she was gone.

But where? And why?

My heart sinks to my toes, my weighted steps dragging me toward her bedroom door, insistent on knowing for sure, clinging to the hope that I’m wrong. That she’ll walk out of her bathroom like she was here all along.

But reality proves otherwise.

Her bed is made, the window shades drawn, but aside from the fact that I can still smell her vanilla and lemon scent in every molecule that hangs in the air, I know that’s all I’ll find of her in here.

I jumpout of my truck, the slam of my door booming against an otherwise quiet, dimly lit street as I stride purposefully toward Kavi’s house. It’s the only place I can assume she’d be.

After calling her several times only to listen to her voicemail, I decided enough was enough. She’d promised me a conversation tonight, and I sure as fuck deserve one. I would have preferred a private venue, and I’ll try to convince her to step out onto the porch or into my truck to talk, but if it has to be at her mom’s house, then so be it.

My fist rises to meet the door, and though anxiety and irritation dilute my veins like a volatile concoction, I force myself back from pounding on it. I draw in a steadying breath, bracing myself as the door swings open, hoping to meet the amber-colored eyes of the woman I’m here to see, only to be met with another pair entirely.

Kavi’s mother’s gaze flickers with both surprise and expectation before she gives me a tight smile. “Mr. Case. How can I help you?”

Angling forward, I strain to catch a glimpse of Kavi over her shoulder, my desperation written all over my face. “I’m here to see Kavi. Is she here?”

The lines around her mother’s eyes deepen before she offers me a weary smile, empathy and resignation etched in her expression. “I’m sorry, but Kavi already left.”

Her words pierce the air with a sharp jab, her gentle tone in opposition to the havoc rising inside me.

---