Page 21 of Come Out, Come Out

God dammit. No, it can’t be over so soon.

Skye

November 14th, 2020 - A Few Minutes After Midnight Strikes

I don’t want to make things weird, but I’m growing restless waiting for Aiden to come back. I check my phone, 12:04 a.m. Saturday, November 14th. It’s been like ten minutes, that feels like a long time.

“Aiden, you okay?” I call out, cringing.

Two more minutes go by, nothing. The chair screeches against the floor as I get up to investigate. I knock softly on the bathroom door. “Aiden, you in there?” Again, nothing. I turn the handle and I’m greeted by an empty bathroom. “What the fuck?” I ask the question out loud, confused. “Is this another part of your game?”

Excitement replaces concern. I walk the ground floor, looking for him. I go to check the porch, but the door is locked. You can only do that from the inside. I start to walk away, but then I realize that I haven’t unlocked or locked that door since yesterday. So, how the hell did he get in here? I check the back door that I never use, it’s locked like always.Weird.

Now, I’m even more determined to find him. “Aiden, come out, come out, wherever you are.” I call playfully as I search my bedroom. The other rooms are empty too. Did he up and leave again without saying goodbye? I’m annoyed but disappointment quickly overrides it. My cheeks burn with embarrassment that I’m actually upset that he left.This isn’t anything. He’s just a fun fuck.I try to remind myself.It didn’t feel like just casual sex.My subconscious unhelpfully supplies, making me feel even more like shit.

I toss our unfinished beers and go upstairs to get ready for bed. I don’t fall asleep though. Instead, I turn the night over in my mind, dissecting the things I do know about him. His name is Aiden, his sister passed, and he’s interested in me—or fucking me, at least. He came back for a reason. But why did he stay away for so long? I swear I’ll be so pissed if he’s married. But there’s no ring and no tan line from one. I’ve seen those fingers in close detail, prayed to them, worshipped at their altar. I’m confident that’s not it. Still, I jump up and rifle under my bathroom counter to find my emergency contraceptive—suddenly reminded just how much I don’t want kids, especially not with a random stranger.

Curious, I look at my phone’s calendar to see when the last time I took it was. I scroll back up to March and look for one of the few dots on my very empty schedule. There it is: Friday, March 13th. Interesting. I go back to my lock screen and realize he’s once again come to see me on a Friday the 13th. That’s areallyweird coincidence. My stomach tightens with unease as I google Friday the 13th’s significance. I know people are superstitious about it being bad luck, but nothing else I read grabs my attention in any meaningful way. I have the fleeting thought that I hope this isn’t some ritualistic murder thing. I circle back to my original worries from when he first entered my house all those months ago. I can’t seem to get that fear to stick, though. There’s something about him that feels safe and comfortable. Part of me doesn’t even think it would be a stretch to say he cares for me—it’s in the way helooksat me, even the way hetouchesme. But I dismiss that thought; I can’t afford to become attached to someone, especially not someone like him. Who knows if I’ll ever see him again? I feel a prick behind my eyes but I refuse to acknowledge it.

Thankfully, a notification pings on my phone in that obnoxious bell tone. My traitor of a heart jumps at the thought that it might be him. But we never exchanged numbers. Still, it has me picking it up and looking anyways. Of course, it’s not him. It is, however, a nice text from Ava checking on me. I type out a quick response.

Switching my phone ringer off, I lay back down in bed and pull the covers around me. I swallow thickly when I notice Binx standing still and staring at the doorway intently.

“Binxie, please don’t be creepy,” I whine. I don’t have the energy to deal with ghost shit right now. After another moment, he crawls up and curls up next to me. I stroke his side absentmindedly as I try to distract myself with social media. Quickly bored of my uneventful feed, I pick up my e-reader and disappear into my current read.All I want is my own morally grey love interest, is that so much to ask?I barely make it a few pages before my eyes are heavy and the words start to blur.

Between school and getting ready for Ava’s birthday, I don’t have time to devote to unraveling the Aiden mystery. I do, however, find myself thinking about him more and more as I sit at this party surrounded by couples. I can’t help but think he’d be the life of a party. He says he used to get bullied, but whatever nerdiness or shyness he may have previously suffered from, he’s all sure confidence now—and sexy as hell. He’s hot in the way that the charming actor who always plays the attractive best friend is. I can imagine him pulling me out of my chair in the corner and forcing me to dance with him. Everyone would watch us and comment on how we look at each other like we can’t possibly wait until we get home to tear each other’s clothes off. Mercifully, Elle approaches me to pull me out of my embarrassing fantasy about a guy I barely know.

“Hey, Skye. How are you?” Elle pulls me into a hug and I try my best not to tense against her. It’s a reminder of how little we actually got to know each other even though we’d lived together for almost two years in multiple places.

“Oh, you know, staying busy.” I skirt around the truth. I’m terrible at small talk, I don’t understand why we need to exchange niceties with people we aren’t friends with, or why people ask how you are when they know you’re likely not well. Again, it confirms she never really knew me even though we lived together and we aren’t friends. It frustrates me, but I force myself to keep up the charade. “How are you, Elle? You look beautiful. Green is definitely your color.” There, polite, complimentary, completely void of meaning. Nailed it.

“I’m great! Sarah and I are living closer to the main part of town now. It’s so much more convenient. Have you considered moving?” Her tone drops lower with the last sentence.

“Yeah, actually. I’m in the process of moving. My new place just isn’t ready yet. I should be out by the end of the month, though.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” Her smile is tight. “Well, it was good seeing you, Skye.” Elle gives a small wave, then seeks out Sarah. Those two are the definition of co-dependent. I’ve never had a best friend like that; I imagine it’s nice.

When I finally meet my two-hour, self-imposed event social requirement, I say goodbye to Ava and get the hell out of there. I have to sit in my car for several minutes to decompress. My head is pounding and my thoughts are racing. I mostly kept to myself, because, beyond the depression, I simply couldn’t keep up with the mental marathon that was pretending I wasn’t one overstimulating action away from unraveling entirely. My entire life I’ve been called irritable, dramatic, and bitchy for it. Do I feel guilty? Yes. But it’s hard not to snap when you’re using every ounce of energy to not fracture into a million pieces in public. Soul-sucking lights. Loud, sloppy chewing. Dozens of voices overlapping. Shrill laughing. Thudding music. That stomach-churning, awful mix of smells of too many people simply existing in one room. No matter what I do, it’s always way too fucking much. A personal hell all for me and nobody else notices.

I learned a long time ago that most people would never understand and nobody in my life would sympathize. So, I was always the asshole when I’d snap on occasion. It’s laughable really, the cruelty of which those around me ignored the suffering so clearly written on my face. But that would be inconvenient. Would ruin their fun, wouldn’t it? It’s better for everyone if I stick to short outings and spend most of my time alone. I’m happier and they’re happier. It’s a win-win, I guess. I’ve spent my entire life telling myself I’m happier alone because the alternative would break me into a million pieces. Accepting that everyone I’ve ever opened up to decided I was too hard to love would break me in a way I could not recover from. Instead, I tell myself I’m happier this way—alone and out of the way.

When I finally get home and take off my short, platform heels, I let out a heavy sigh of relief. The bottoms of my feet burn as I trudge up the stairs completely drained, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be home. After a hot shower, I’ve managed to stabilize enough to feel calm as I lay my head on the pillow.

My relaxed state doesn’t last long, though. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I want to believe the shifting of the mattress was caused by Binx, but he’s nowhere to be seen. There’s a slight indent, like someone is sitting at the bottom of my bed. The sinking pit in my stomach tells me someone is there. I feel eyes on me. Chills erupt over my skin and my throat dries. I stare at the spot, terrified to blink, and find that it’s moved. Me and what I’m assuming is my persistent ghost both sit there frozen.

After another minute without movement goes by, I find my courage. “What the fuck do you want? Please just leave me alone. I’m so tired.” And just like that, any composure I’d gathered under the steam of the hot shower is out the window. I’m sobbing now and there’s no stopping it. The ghost must take pity on me, or maybe I’m just too overwhelmed to care because that’s the last I think of it.

Aiden

November 28th, 2020 – Two Weeks Later

“Skye, please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Skye, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

I plead at the foot of her bed where my entire life lies. She stares into her phone absolutely oblivious to my suffering.

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