Page 86 of Light in the Dark
Amy is hovering as I scramble out of bed, ignoring her barrage of questions. I topple to the floor as I try to work my legs into my jeans, but I'm too frantic and still half-drunk.
Fuck pants.
I snag a pair of shorts from a drawer and pull them on while still on the floor, then stagger to my feet.
"FELIX!" Amy shouts, grabbing my shoulders. "What the fuck is happening?”
I wrench out of her grip, stumbling unsteadily away from her. "She needs help! I don't fucking know. I don't fucking know."
She shoves past me and pushes on my bare chest. "Stop! You cannotdrive like this, Fee."
"Fuck, fuck—FUCK!" I stab at my phone's screen until Riley's name appears and the burble of the ringing line emits from the speaker.
"'Lo? Fee? Whazzit? Whazzwrong?"
"Ember—Ember," I choke out. "Texted help. I'm too drunk to drive. Please fucking tell me you can drive."
He’s instantly awake and alert. “Yeah, I'm good, I'm good. You’re at home?"
"Yes."
"Be there in less than five, brother. I'm coming."
Amy vanished while I was talking to Riley, and now she reappears with a T-shirt which she shoves unceremoniously over my head and guides my arms through the sleeves. She vanishes again and reappears with my running shoes, a ratty pair of white New Balance sneakers that I’ve had for years—they're green from being worn while cutting grass, and they're knotted and sagging open from shoving my feet into them without untying them.
I slam my feet into them, and then peer at Amy. "Thanks," I mutter.
"Fee, I—" her eyes are scared, worried.
My gut tells me something is terribly, terribly wrong, and I'm panicking and terrified and angry.
"A couple months ago, I'd have…" I shake my head. "I'd have thought I still loved you."
"Fee—"
I hear tires screech in the distance, and I make for the front door, phone gripped in my hand in case she texts again or calls.
"Guilt and regret aren't love." I scrub at my face with one hand, trying to push sobriety into my brain. "I don't love you. I did, back then. But I fucked up. Maybe it was my fault, maybe it wasn't. Dunno. But we can't get that back, Amy. We can't get back there."
"Fee, we can. Not back there, maybe, but somewhere new."
I shake my head. “No. Because you're not her."
Riley's headlights stab the darkness out front of my house, and he skids to a stop. I jog out the front door, leave it open, leave Amy standing alone in my living room, staring after me with tears in her eyes.
Riley leans across his cab and shoves the passenger door open. I hop in and slam it closed.
"Where is she?" he asks.
"I don't know. I don’t know. She's not sharing her location with me."
He's pulling away from the curb with a bark of tires, and within seconds we're out of the neighborhood and onto Main Street heading north.
"I already called Cole," Riley says. "Brian is picking him up and they’ve got units looking for her. What happened?" He glances at me. "Was that—?"
"Amy."
"No fucking way," he breathes. "What in the actual unholy motherfuck isshedoing in your house at four in the goddamn morning?"
