Chapter 21: Too Late
1002 Words
Morning didn’t feel like morning. It felt like I’d been dropped into it without warning. My eyes opened heavily, my head already throbbing behind my temples like I hadn’t rested at all.
The light in my room was too bright, too honest, like it had no patience for how I was feeling.
I just lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling. Not thinking, not moving. Just trying to catch up to myself.
Then my hand moved on its own.
Phone.
It was right there beside me. I grabbed it fast, almost too fast, like I already knew what I was going to see but still needed to check anyway. The screen lit up in my face.
Nothing.
No messages. No missed calls. Not even a notification pretending to care.
Dante.
Still nothing.
My chest tightened in this quiet way, not painful exactly, just… there. Like my body was reacting before my thoughts could even form properly. I sat up slowly, pushing the blanket off me.
The room suddenly felt colder, or maybe I just noticed it more.
Silence sat with me in a way I didn’t like.
I stood and walked to the bathroom, brushing my hair back as I went.
The mirror caught me immediately—tired eyes, smudged makeup from last night, and skin that looked like it had carried too much. I stared at myself longer than I meant to.
I didn’t really recognize her for a second.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. It stung just enough to pull me back into myself. I kept my hands there for a moment, letting the sound of the water fill my head instead of everything else.
Dante.
Still nothing.
I dried my face slowly and went back out. My phone was still where I left it, like it hadn’t moved, like I hadn’t been waiting on it. I unlocked it again anyway. Just in case.
Same result.
Of course.
A low groan came from down the hallway.
Clara.
I let out a small breath and walked toward the guest room, my steps slower than I expected. I pushed the door open and found her completely buried under the blanket, only her hair visible.
“Water…” she mumbled without lifting her head.
I almost smiled. Almost.
“I told you,” I said quietly, already turning away.
In the kitchen, I filled a glass with water and came back. The apartment was still quiet, but it didn’t feel empty. It just felt… slow.
I placed the glass on her bedside table.
“Drink,” I said.
Clara pushed herself up like it hurt to exist. “I’m never drinking again,” she muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”
She ignored me, taking small sips anyway. Her eyes finally focused properly on me, and I felt it before she even spoke.
“You okay?” she asked.
That question landed heavier than it should’ve.
I leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah,” I said.
But it didn’t sound like me. Not really.
Clara noticed. I saw it in her face. She always did.
Her gaze dropped slightly. “He didn’t call?” she asked carefully.
My fingers tightened around my phone without me meaning to. I shook my head once.
The silence after that wasn’t loud, but it was full.
“That’s weird,” she murmured. “He usually—”
“I know,” I cut in.
Not angry. Just… done with that sentence continuing.
I stepped back before the conversation could go anywhere else. “I’ll make something to eat,” I said, already moving.
Clara stayed in bed.
In the kitchen, I moved without really thinking. Open cupboard. Close the cupboard. Look at things I didn’t actually need. My hands were busy, but my mind wasn’t staying with them.
Leondra.
Mike.
Dante.
All of them kept overlapping in my head in a way I couldn’t sort out yet.
I leaned against the counter for a second, eyes closing briefly. My breathing slowed, but my thoughts didn’t. Something about everything felt connected, like pieces I hadn’t put together yet were already affecting me anyway.
My phone buzzed.
My whole body reacted before I even looked at it.
Dante.
I answered fast. “Hello?”
A pause.
“Hey,” he said.
That one word already felt wrong. Too calm. Too far away.
“You called me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Yeah. I saw the missed calls.”
That’s it.
No “sorry.” No "Are you okay?" Just… acknowledgement.
My grip tightened slightly. “I tried calling you last night. We needed a ride,” I said.
“I was busy,” he replied.
Flat. Like it ended there.
My throat tightened, but I swallowed it down. “Are you okay?” I asked after a second, softer this time.
Pause.
“I’m fine.”
Same answer. Same distance.
My eyes closed for a moment.
Of course.
“Alright,” I said.
“I’ll come by later,” he added.
Not a question. Just a plan already decided.
“Okay,” I replied.
And then the call ended.
Just like that.
No warmth. No explanation. Nothing to hold onto after.
I stood there for a second longer than I should’ve, staring at the phone screen like it might change if I looked hard enough. It didn’t.
Clara’s voice came from behind me. “What did he say?”
I didn’t turn right away. “He’s coming later,” I said.
“And?”
I placed my phone down on the counter. The sound felt louder than it should’ve.
“That’s it.”
Clara frowned, but I didn’t explain anything else.
Because I couldn’t.
Not yet.
I just stood there in the kitchen, hands resting on the counter, staring at nothing in particular.
Something was shifting in me.
Quiet. Slow.
But real this time.
And I wasn’t ignoring it anymore.
- Writer
