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I’ve never felt so alone and forgotten. Abandoned and overlooked. Yep, I’ve succumbed to the Great Big Dark. He loves me and keeps me warm at night.
No one cares that my hand is injured and my dreams are ruined. The Martel men have their own lives to worry about. I’m history. Someone they ruined and forgot about.
They’ve probably already moved on to another sick and twisted competition.
I grab the remote and flip through the channels. When I come across Jeopardy, I flick the TV off and stare at the blank screen. For a long time.
What is duped by a stalker?
I rub my forehead in a circular motion. This is what an all-time-low feels like. I know I need to do something to save myself. But I don’t have the energy. All I want to do is watch TV and fade in and out of sleep.
I need help. I should reach out, call some of my symphony friends. Plan a lunch date. Some retail therapy.
But I don’t want to. That’s the catch-22 of the Great Big Dark. It’s like I’m drowning and no one’s there to save me. Yet, if I scream for help, I know someone will come. They’ll pull me out and I will be fine. The thing is, I don’t want to call out for help. I want someone to notice and come to my rescue of their own accord.
Notice me. Save me.
It’s not a healthy viewpoint. I know it’s self-indulgent. But knowing that changes nothing. It is what it is.
The longer no one comes, the further I sink into the water. My head is covered. I’ve been underwater for days and I’m powerless to save myself. It’s like my hands are tied behind my back.
I hate the Great Big Dark, and yet I embrace him and hold him tight. Because I don’t have anything else.
I grab another tub of ice cream from the freezer and indulge in the only happiness I can find.
When my phone rings, I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s been eerily silent for so long, I hardly recognize the ringtone. I have no voicemails and no texts. Nothing. It’s enough to make a girl feel invisible.
Ryker’s name flashes across my screen. The devil incarnate is calling.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sounding like a croak at three in the afternoon.
“Mila?”
“Why does that surprise you? That’s who you called. Or did you butt dial me?”
“Are... are you okay?”
“I’m fantastic. Never been better. Why wouldn’t I be? If you can’t answer that, you don’t deserve to be speaking with me.” My voice shakes with emotion, betraying me. Tears are never far from the surface these days. Okay, constant. Same difference.
“I, uh...”
“Never mind. Why are you calling me, Ryker?”
“You sound weird. What’s wrong?”
“Really?” I ask, heavy on the sarcasm. What could possibly be wrong?
“Really. You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I’m not myself. Things have changed in my world.”
“I know they have. I’m sorry about that.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I mean it.”
“Why the phone call, Ryker? Please get to the point.” I’m positive he didn’t call to check up on me. He never does. No one does.
