By the time I could see the blue and red strobe through the window, Emily’s sobs had started to subside. She had curled up into a ball on the couch and receded inside her hoodie. I tried at first to communicate, but every attempt only made her shift further away. The invisible horror that lurked inside the video had reduced Emily to a shell. When no words could provide comfort, I took to watching out the window until help arrived.
I heard the police in the hall, the jingling of keys, and the chirp of radios echoing along with their footsteps. The sounds brought a hint of relief to the air, but with that a nervousness I wasn’t prepared for. I had been so focused on them getting here that I hadn’t even thought of what to say.
“The police are here,” I said to Emily, which seemed to pull her out of reclusion. As the authoritative knock rattled the door, Emily sat up and wiped her eyes.
I opened the door to see two officers; one male and one female. The man was tall and broad, with tanned skin and bleach-blonde hair. The woman was considerably shorter, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, a shade of pink lipstick offering a polite smile.
“Hi there. I’m officer Regan, and this is officer Henry. Are you the one who reported harassment?” The female cop said.
“Y-yeah. But it’s not me, it’s my friend. Here, come in.” I said, holding the door open and stepping off to the side.
The officers walked in, Regan looked around the apartment for a moment and moved towards Emily when she saw her. Henry came in close behind but stayed by the door. He hooked his thumbs in his kevlar vest and took his time looking around the apartment, eyes darting as his jaw worked at a piece of gum. They both looked tired but alert, taking in everything in the living room surprisingly fast.
“Hey, I’m officer Regan. Do you mind telling me what’s going on here?” Regan knelt next to Emily, who was looking at the officer weakly.
“She’s being stalked. They sent her a–” I started, but Henry cut me off.
“Let her talk, kid.” He said sternly, pausing his chewing long enough to make sure I understood. I nodded compliantly.
Regan readied a notepad, ignoring us both. She cleared her throat and clicked a pen.
“Start from the beginning. When did this start? Do you have any idea who it is?” Regan said, posed and ready to write.
Emily said nothing for a moment, hugging her knees to her chest.
“He’s watching me.” She said, looking out the window. We all followed her gaze. Regan looked at Henry, who left without a word.
“Who’s watching you? Ex-boyfriend? Girlfriend?” She asked, scribbling briefly.
“I went looking for him and I found him. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve listened.” She said, the tears threatening to return.
“Who, honey? Who did you go looking for?” Regan said, speaking a little softer
Through the window, we could see Henry pass, flashlight panning into the night.
“He sent me a warning. It’s too late now. He’s going to get me and I can’t stop him. You can’t stop him.” Emily said, hugging herself tighter.
“Uh-huh, this guy got a name sweetie?”
More scribbling.
“The Paper Mache’ Man.” I blurted impatiently. Regan looked at me in a way a mother would look at their child for touching something they shouldn’t be.
“Is this true? Is that our guy?” She asked Emily, who nodded weakly.
“You said he sent a warning. What do you mean by that?”
Emily lifted a finger to the computer tower, which was still humming by the entertainment stand. I cleared my throat and spoke up.
“He sent her a CD. There was a video on it. Of him watching her. I… unplugged the TV when she got upset. You want me to hook it back up?” I asked.
“Could you please?” She said, before addressing Emily again. “Did you happen to get a good look at him? This ‘Paper Mache Man’? Either of you see him out the window? Or dropping the CD off?” She asked.
“You can’t see him. Not until he’s ready.” Emily said.
“Ready for what, honey?”
“For you to join him,” Emily said. Regan paused her scribbling, but only for a moment. The words gave me the chills.
While I plugged the TV back in, officer Regan continued her soft prodding. She asked her many questions, each time jotting down notes and flashing the same sweet smile.
Where did you find him?
Have you met in person?
Do they have another name they go by?
Have you seen them around here before?
Do they have any reason to hurt you?
The last question hung in the air, only to be cut off by the chirp of Regan’s radio. The stern voice of Henry crackled over.
“Perimeter clear.”
“10-4.”
I turned the TV on and grabbed the dusty mouse on the TV stand, giving it a wiggle to preemptively pull it out of the screensaver.
“Now I’m gonna need to see this video, honey. You want to wait in the other room? Would that be easier for you?” Regan asked, pocketing her notebook and putting a hand on her shoulder. Emily shook her head.
When the desktop screen appeared on the TV, I saw the video had closed itself out. I moved the cursor across the screen to the ‘My computer’ tab, and double clicked. I looked at officer Regan, who nodded for me to continue. I double clicked on the DVD tray reader icon and waited for the video to play. We waited in silence, the spiral buffer icon taking its time.
Behind us, the door opened, and officer Henry stepped back in. He joined Regan as we waited.
“This the video?” He asked, and his partner nodded. I waited for the window to launch, and the static to follow. The feed with Emily, looking at the old horror movies. When a window did finally pop, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.
Error: File not compatible. Unable to launch.
I hovered over the options to cancel or troubleshoot, feeling myself starting to sweat.
“It’s not working. I’m going to try again.” I said, and the officers nodded. I looked at Emily, who was now solemnly looking at the floor.
I canceled it out and clicked the icon again. Same error, except faster this time. I tried again, and again, but each time it yielded the same result. After the tenth try, officer Henry cleared his throat.
“You two do some drinking tonight?” He said.
My cheeks grew hot. I already knew where this was going.
“What?” I asked, my tone flaring up.
“Did you two do a little bit of drinking tonight?” He said a little slower and batted an eye at the cans on the coffee table.
“You don’t believe us,” I said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look, I’ll prove it to you!” I opened the disc tray and reached for the DVD. My fingers stopped just short of the tray, my hand shaking in the air.
The disc was gone.
“What the hell? Bullshit.” I looked to the screen for the icon for the DVD reader. The icon was gone as well.
Emily buried her face and started to cry softly. I checked the screen again, closed it out, opened it again. I closed the disc tray and opened it a second time. Nothing.
“That’s wrong, it was here. She opened it. It was wrapped in…” I looked underneath the coffee table, for the newspaper and raffia yarn. There was nothing. I looked around the takeout containers. Nothing. Henry cleared his throat.
“Alright. So you two did a little drinking. Watched some scary movies. Some of those movies, they can be a little scary, can’t they?” He said, chewing his gum.
“We’re not making this up! It was here. He was here.” I said, standing up.
“Who was here?”
“The Paper Mache’ Man,” I said, feeling suddenly foolish with my hands balled into fists.
Henry exchanged a look with Regan, then sighed.
“Look, kid–”
“No, we’re telling the truth! She found him on the dark web. Now he’s stalking her. He sent the disc, and I saw it.”
“The deep web?” He said incredulously.
“C’mon Emily, tell him!”
Emily did nothing, only sink more.
The silent tension built in the living room like a hot breath, and I wiped at the sweat forming on my forehead. Henry looked about out of patience. I looked at officer Regan, who just raised her eyebrows.
“Look. If you find the CD, the wrapping, anything, give us a call. We can’t stay here all night catchin’ ghosts. I looked, alright? Whatever it is, it ain’t out there. No footprints in the dirt, no nothin’.” He said.
“We’ll send a unit out here to make some patrols throughout the night, ok?” Regan offered, “And if you see anything else, call. We’ll come back out. In the meantime… maybe you should get some rest.”
Henry left first, talking into his radio in the hall. Regan gave an apologetic look before following. I closed the door behind them and locked it again, both deadbolt and chain.
I walked to the window to watch them leave. Emily sniffled and got up from the couch, wiping at her puffy eyes. Outside the officers killed the strobe, and after sitting there for a moment, the cruiser pulled away.
“They’re leaving. They’re really just gonna…” I looked at Emily, and was shocked to see her no longer there.
I looked down the hall, just in time to see her door shut.
*****
I remember lying in bed for a while, tossing and turning through the night. I would open my eyes at every noise outside, sitting up and checking my phone before uneasily rolling back over. I felt an odd paranoia I couldn’t shake. Each time I would start to drift off I felt like someone was watching me, and it would pull me from the lull of sleep.
At one point I couldn’t help but get up to check the apartment, creeping out into the hall and turning all the lights on. I checked every closet and corner, even going as far as checking the peephole to make sure no one was lurking behind the door.
I decided to look for the wrapping again, picking through the takeout trash to find some validation for the past events. I checked under the couch and inside the cushions, then in and around the recliner. I gathered up the containers to throw them away and even picked through the trash can to be sure before dumping it in.
I found no evidence of the Paper Mache’ man.
Before trying to go to bed again I peeked out the window to the parking lot, my last ditch effort to find something before returning to my room. To my surprise, the only thing out of the ordinary was a police cruiser, parked and idling next to the dumpster. They had actually sent a patrol as they promised.
Seeing the car made me feel emotional. The stark vehicle creeping in the night made me question myself, my thoughts, and everything I had seen. Had I actually seen this shit? Or was I just fooling myself to be there for Emily?
I killed the lights and walked back to my room. I could see Emily’s light under her door, the faint tune of music whispering from within. I wanted to knock and try to talk to her… but in the end, I was just too tired. Too tired to be awake any longer, and too tired of this internet ghost conspiracy. I returned to my room, my last shred of evidence spent wincing at how late it was.
*****
The next day I awoke, cursing my alarms for doing what I asked of them. I dressed like a shambling corpse, pulling on a wrinkled uniform through the fogged lens of drowsiness. My body ached from the lack of rest, each routine motion labored and irritated.
I brushed and combed, trying to make myself presentable aside from feeling dead on the inside. Putting on my shoes, the soft playing music could still be heard. Emily was still holed up in her room, and I wondered if she had been missing work. After pocketing my keys and wallet, I fished out my phone and sent her a text:
Off to work. How you holdin up?
I promptly left. Getting out of the apartment felt liberating, and it seemed to ease the paranoia lingering in the backseat. Maybe I just needed to get out more. Maybe she did.
I felt a little better as the morning went on. I found the distraction of work to be welcoming, and focusing on the day’s tasks seemed to put me at ease. Time moved consistently, and I didn’t even realize it was time to take my lunch until my boss mentioned it. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry. On my break I grabbed some lunch from down the street, deciding when I got back I would just chill and eat it in my car. I looked at my phone for the first time since I left the house, and found my text message had been left on ‘read’.
The incessant nagging that had been lying dormant sprouted at the sight of Emily’s name, and the text I had sent the day prior.
Have you learned anything else about the Paper Mache’ Man?
Seeing the words provoked a discomfort deep inside my soul. I felt a pressure in my head, a painless migraine pushing on the insides of my skull. Like a vibrating cell phone, worming its way out from the compacted folds of my brain.
I read the text again and again as if I had sent it to myself.
I thought of last night, standing at the TV next to Emily as we watched her browse the horror movies on camera. The look on her face when it zoomed in on her skin and how she couldn’t look away. The way her eyes buzzed.
My thumbs moved on their own accord, opening the web browser and typing the name into Google. I hit ‘search’, and waited.
The same results as the night before. DIY projects with glue and paper. Recipes for the perfect adhesive. Newspaper sculptures in all shapes and sizes. I looked at dozens of links, each leading to something crafty and innocent. I took to Reddit, and when I exhausted all points of interest there, I went to 4chan. I found nothing conspicuous, no inclination of The Paper Mache’ Man’s existence in any way, shape, or form.
No-name websites were next, pages and pages of third-party forums. Each of them were ages old and chock full of ads. I kept scrolling, patiently waiting as my phone struggled to load the poorly optimized content. Threads that had burned out years ago, inconclusive convos that had been buried by a decade of old domains and forgotten email activations. The longer I looked, the more time it took for the pages to load.
I spent so much time staring at my phone I hadn’t noticed my break was over. My food sat in the passenger seat, cold and uneaten. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I needed to head back in, I would have to continue this later.
I gathered my things and threw open the car door, and stopped. Part of an old thread I was reading had finally buffered, now showing several comments posted that lacked an actual message. Each comment showed up as
It was a picture of a dining room, with a set table and a darkened doorway in the background.
A family sat there, each recoiled in their chairs. White hands brought to their chests, the fingers fat and contorted. Their faces were pulpy and gray, no features save for the smeared and matted text of newspaper.
Standing in the doorway was a figure so tall, it had to hunch over to fit. With one lanky arm, it grasped the doorway, the other outstretched and pointed forward.
Pointing at me.
****
I drove away from work to the sound of a dial tone drumming in my ear. My call to Emily timed-out to voicemail. A cheerier, past version of her told me to leave a message. I found myself rambling into the phone with an urgent stuttering that could’ve been simplified to:
Emily, we need to talk, it’s important, I can see him.
My second call was to my boss, apologizing for running off without saying anything. I told him I really wasn’t feeling well, and on my lunch break I had thrown up all over myself. He was understanding and told me to take some time off until I felt better.
Driving home, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I kept checking the rearview mirror, expecting the malformed shape of a man to be there. Each time I would see nothing but the fleeting stretch of the road behind me.
I called Emily again. Straight to voicemail. I drove faster, a cold sweat chilling my neck. I caught every red light in town, subconsciously looking behind me at every stop. The image of the dining room photo was burned into my mind, and everywhere I looked I anticipated the long pointing hand.
When I arrived home, I practically jogged into the building. I fumbled with my keys, glancing down the hallway sporadically until the door was unlocked. I yanked it open and shut it behind me.
The apartment was dark, except for the light trying to fight its way in through the blinds. The house was still clean from the night before, but everything felt dusty, dingy.
“Emily?” I called out, my voicing sounding unnaturally loud in the complete lack of white noise. Silence was my only response.
I made my way to the hall, turning on every light as I went. Before I even made it down I noticed something missing, something I hadn’t realized I was relying on until it was absent.
Emily’s door was closed, and the light was off.
“Hello?”
There was no murmur of music from within, no comforting tune to assure me of her company.
Nothing but a ringing that had started in my ears.
I knocked on Emily’s door and called her name again. I stood close to the door and listened for movement, keeping my eye on the front door. The apartment felt so empty, and I expected something to peek around the corner every time my eyes drifted away.
My phone chimed and scared the living shit out of me. I dug it out of my pocket and was simultaneously overcome with a rush of relief and worry. The text had come from Emily.
Ran into town. Had to get out of the house. Be back later.
I felt myself sinking. In the past few days of me coming and going, Emily had locked herself in her room and spent her time trying to make sense of the anomaly. And after days of not listening, I was now alone.
When you see it, who’s going to be the asshole here? You.
I locked my phone without responding to her text. Even if I knew what I wanted to say, hounding her over it now… didn’t feel fair. I would just have to wait until she got back in.
I went to the living room and opened the blinds. I was in such a hurry when I got here I hadn’t even noticed that her car was gone.
The ringing in my ears made the silence unbearable. A tight knot was forming in my stomach, the anxious twist of stress hampering my breathing as I looked outside. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but I still felt the eyes on me.
I splashed some cold water on my face and tried to relax. Looking at my own distraught reflection, I realized there was only one thing I could do. The exact same thing Emily had done: try and find out what the fuck was happening.
I closed myself in my room and booted up my desktop. I opened the web browser, I decided to try and recount my steps earlier. If I could just find something she might have missed, maybe I could help us both. The ringing continued, and I put on some music of my own to alleviate the crushing silence.
Hours passed in front of the screen. I combed dozens of threads, scrolling through every comment until each domain was useless. When I reached a dead end, I would backpedal until I found another fork in the road. My browser became littered with tabs, reference points saved in case I snagged on whichever forum I was currently on. The longer I dug, the older the threads got. But everywhere I went, everything was
I imagined Emily doing the same, typing and clicking at her computer in the safety of her bedroom. Thinking back, it astounded me how well she had handled it alone. All the time she spent searching, trying to find some concrete assurance that she wasn’t crazy. I thought of all the times I dismissed her, and how I could’ve just helped her look, instead of just letting her sink. I could’ve asked more questions, I could’ve tried to understand.
After searching the whole day, I turned up nothing. I was exhausted, my eyes aching from staring at the screen, and the swell of the migraine lingering behind it. It was mentally jarring, looking for something that didn’t want to be found. Every time I thought I was close, the trail would stop completely. The information just wasn’t there.
Almost like it didn’t exist.
I rubbed at my eyes and stood from my desk, feeling too tired and frustrated to continue. Maybe if I could rest my brain, I could try again tomorrow with a clearer start. I collapsed on my bed, thoughts of the photo slipping away as sleep found me.
****
I was standing at the bathroom mirror.
I don’t know how long I had been there, hands gripping the sink, staring at my own reflection. My palms were slick with sweat and I felt clammy. I stared at myself, eyes struggling to focus on a mirror image that didn’t look right.
The tap was running, ice cold. I felt the stream with my fingers, and hunched down to splash some water on my face. The water was freezing, and my skin tingled as I massaged the water in. I felt nauseous and dehydrated. I cupped my hands and brought them to my mouth, slurping greedily as my body shivered.
When I looked back at the mirror, I could see it.
The difference.
My eyelids were slack. I got closer to the mirror, using my fingers to stretch the lids open. I looked at my own eyeball, then to the flesh around it. It wasn’t the normal shade of pink and red. It was pale, white even. With my other hand I picked and prodded, surprised to feel nothing as my fingers explored the open cavity of my eye. There was something beneath it. I could feel it.
The first scratch was the hardest, a hot trickle of blood chilling as it streamed down my face. There was no sensation of pain, and my need to see what lay beneath surpassed my concern for the damage I inflicted.
I burrowed into my own skin, digging until I could get under it with my finger tip. I worked the digit in, paying no mind to the sprinkle of red that was peppering the sink. I pinched the flap and pulled, ripping a strip under my eye until it came free. I could see it now, the hiding layer of blurred lettering that continued underneath. But it wasn’t enough, I couldn’t quite see.
I needed more.
With both hands I clawed and raked at my face, each swipe peeling a little more than the last. My nails dripping as they worked through my face, my eyes fierce and focused on my deteriorating doppelganger. Blood splattered the sink, collecting in a thick pool as bits of my skin clogged the drain. The running water of the tap churned the mixture as it rose to the edge.
It started to come free. My fingers dug deep, hooking into the flesh over my cheek bones. I took a deep breath and started to pull, removing the mask that disguised my true face. Each revealing tug spurting the mirror in dark streaks. I watched through the stained glass as I ripped, my nose and lips coming free in one long strip of bloody skin.
My trembling hands let the mask fall, and it fell with a splash. The dark pool gushed over the sides of the sink as I stared at what had been hiding all along.
A face made purely of paper mache’.
I awoke gasping, clammy hands touching my face in a panic. I felt my skin, hot and sweating from the terrible nightmare. It took me a while to come down, gasping for breath as my eyes struggled to discern the dream from reality. A sense of familiarity slowly returned, and I realized I was in my bed.
My bedroom was dark, the soft lullaby of music still playing after hours of shuffling. The daylight that had previously shone in before had retired to the veil of night, leaving me to squint at the features of my room. Just as I started to relax under the covers, an unmistakable detail filled me with discomfort.
My bedroom door had been opened while I was asleep.
The door was slightly cracked, a narrow beam shining from the light in the hallway. I pulled the covers off and swung out of bed, keeping my eyes on it as I stood. I left it shut when I laid down, I was sure of it.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked the time. It was just after 10p.m.
Creeping toward the door, I began to hear a noise from the other side. It was a familiar sound, a skrit-skrit-skrit that I swore I had heard before. I froze next to the crack, trying to place it as I looked down the hall.
Skrit-skrit-skrit. Click.
Skrit-skrit-skrit. Click.
Skrit-skrit-skriiiiiit.
It was coming from the living room. I opened the door quietly and looked down the hall. All the lights I had turned on early still remained, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
Skrit-skrit-skrit… click.
Emily’s door was shut, still dark and quiet as she had left it. I walked down the corridor, hugging the wall as the sound continued. It was moving around, each time just a little further from the last.
Skrit-skrit-skrit…
At the end of the hall, I could hear the scuffs of socks on carpet. I peeked around the corner, to see someone standing next to the sliding door.
Click.
Emily was looking outside, standing perfectly still. In her hands was a tiny camera.
Skrit-skrit-skrit.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and she jumped.
“Jesus, you fuckin’ scared me!” She said, flashing me a look of startled anger.
“Sorry.”
Emily walked over to the coffee table, and reached for a bottle that sat in the center. My guess was vodka. She unscrewed the cap and took a swig, one that looked like it hurt.
“I’m taking pictures, obviously.” She said, wiping her mouth. She offered it to me, and I shook my head. She shrugged, her little shoulders bobbing in her tank top. Her lower half was covered by the massive Coheed and Cambria hoodie tied around her waist, the legs of plaid pajama pants poking out from under it. Her socks were covered in little cats.
“I didn’t know they made disposables any more.” I said, sitting on the couch.
“Me neither, until today.” She said, aiming the camera into the kitchen.
Click.
“I wasn’t having any luck with the phone,” Emily began, her thumb working the plastic wheel on the corner of the camera, “so I’m trying physical copies. See if he shows up. Maybe if I hold on to the pictures, they won’t go away. This is my third one.” She held the camera up.
“You think he’s here?” I asked, trying not to sound worried, and failing. I looked around the apartment, feeling the uncomfortable ringing returning.
“Maybe.” She aimed the disposable down the hall, and clicked the button.
“I uh, saw him this morning.” I said, shifting my weight on the couch.
“Did you?” She said, working the wheel again. It wasn’t a question, more like an acknowledgement.
“Yeah. He was…” I went to the gallery on my phone, to bring up the screenshot I had taken before leaving work this morning. It wasn’t there.
Emily walked to the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator. Facing the front door, she raised the camera and clicked the button.
“Did you get a warning?” She said, her words hung dead in the air as she readied another picture.
I saw the recording of Emily in my head, and the sounds of her frightened shouting cut in like interference as I remembered her paused face.
“No.”
“Hmm.” She inspected the camera closely, and without a word, came and sat on the couch.
We said nothing for a while. Emily set the camera on the table, and grabbed the vodka bottle. I watched her take a drink, wincing harder this time. I felt like I should say something, something important, but every conjured thought ended with a pale hand pointing from a photograph.
“What are you gonna do now?” Ended up being the best I had.
“Gonna get these developed. Then maybe go see my Mom. I don’t know. I feel like I should.” She said, resting her head on the arm of the couch, cradling the bottle upright.
“They still have 24-hour photos?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow… hey,” I swiveled on the couch to face her, “you want me to take you?” I asked.
She perked up for a moment, but it didn’t last.
“Nah. Probably call an Uber or something. You got work, don’t you?” She said.
“I don’t think I’ll be making it in tomorrow.” I chuckled, scratching my head.
“It’s cool. Besides, I don’t want anyone waiting on me. Rather make my own way, you know? But, if you’re not going in…” she held the bottle out with a smirk. I took it.
The mouthful was warm but comforting, an instant burn accompanied by something…fruity? I coughed afterwards.
“It’s supposed to be strawberry.” Emily laughed.
“It’s not.” I choked, and took another swig. Emily sat up and grabbed the camera.
“Hey, I got one left. You wanna…?” She held it out, mimicking a selfie.
“Yeah, sure.” I said, and she scooted over. I put an arm around her shoulder and she snuggled against me, provoking a smile I hadn’t thought possible until then. Emily held it up, and pushed the button.
Not long after, Emily called a ride, like she said she would. While we waited, we continued to pass the bottle, and as we got tipsy, we talked about horror movies. The more we drank the more we laughed, until we wiped at tears from cracking up so hard. We reminisced over the movie nights, and in that moment, there was nothing else that mattered. There was no Paper Mache’ Man.
When her ride honked outside, we both frowned, and Emily pulled on her hoodie. I asked if she would rather stay and we could sort it out tomorrow, but she was adamant about leaving. I wanted to convince her to stay, but I knew once she had made up her mind there was no changing it. She took a drink for the road and left me the bottle, a sad look in her eyes as she put on her shoes. She hugged me goodbye, both of us swaying from the lull of the alcohol. I let her go, wishing it would have lasted just a little longer. She left, and I found myself wandering back to the couch, unsure of what to do next. Without any better ideas, I reached for the bottle again.
To my surprise, Emily poked her head back in.
“Thirteen Ghosts.” She said, without elaborating further.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“It was one of the movies I meant to watch. Always forgot to put it on the list.” She said with a frown.
“Next time. We’ll watch that first.” I said, pointing at her with the neck of the bottle.
“Yeah. Next time.” And she was gone.
This time I got up from the couch and watched her go, leaning against the slider as she shuffled to the little hatchback car that came to pick her up. She opened the door to the backseat and saw me, giving me a wave and a smile before ducking in. I waved back, and as I watched her go, I finished the last inch of the bottle.
I tossed the bottle in the trash, my steps sloppy and exaggerated. I locked the door and headed to my room, wondering if I should’ve done something different. Maybe said something different. Looking back, I would have.
I stopped at the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. My reflection was tired and drunk, breathing too hard as I leaned forward to inspect myself. I looked into my glazed eyes, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The corners of my eyes were soft and pink, with nothing lurking underneath. The ringing had ceased as well, and before I left the bathroom, I was even smiling a little.
When I got to my room, I left the door open and shut off the music. I sprawled out on my bed, the cool pillow and comforter soft on my skin. In the drunk serenity of peace and quiet, I fell back to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up late. My head was pounding, and the daylight from the window was suffocating. I grabbed at my head, regretting the drinks I had the night before. I shambled out of bed with a groan, feeling for my phone as I shielded my eyes. I hadn’t called work to tell them I was staying home. As far as they were concerned, I was a no-call-no-show.
I found my phone on the floor, and squinted at the screen. It was 11a.m. I had overslept three hours. I went to swipe, but something stopped me. I had received a single text while I was asleep, a simple message from the only name I hoped to see. Emily.
Want to meet me at the lake at noon? The usual spot. For old time’s sake?