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The kitchen lay to my far left, with its shiny stainless appliances and overhanging countertop that served as a bar, complete with cushioned chairs. Past the kitchen was a wide archway leading to the hallway and the bedrooms and bathrooms beyond.
It was a really nice place in a town where square-footage came at a premium. As a homebuilder, I would know.
I stepped fully into the apartment and closed the door, turning back just as she sank gracelessly into the plush love seat, still facing away from me.
Graceless was something Talia just didn't do. Not the few times I had been around her. It was one of the things I remembered most. She was flawless. Absolutely flawless in every movement, like a dancer. Tall and willowy, she seemed to float on air. It was mesmerizing.
But not tonight.
Tonight she moved like the weight of the world was on her shoulders and it was odd to see her trudge across the room that way. Wrong.
With slow measured steps, I approached the living room. I'd only been in the apartment once before to help Ali move. Talia hadn't been there at the time but the place had felt like her just the same. Warm and inviting, like the woman herself. Tonight, though, the place felt different as I made my way over to her. Empty. Hollow.
Just like her.
I tried not to let the tension I was feeling creep into my voice, not wanting to further upset her, but needing to know what was going on. "I hope you're not angry that Ali sent me. She's been worried about you. She said she's been trying to get in touch with you for days and when you didn't answer, she panicked."
Another sniff but nothing else.
I edged my way over to the couch, not wanting to crowd her, and took a seat. Her head was down, long blond locks obscuring my view of her face. She was hiding. Something about the gesture scared me. I needed to see her face; it was suddenly very important though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I knew a little about the abuse Ali had once suffered at the hands of her ex. Was Talia hiding bruises? The thought sent a shot of rage through my system. If someone hurt her…
"Can you look at me, please?" My voice was soft, disarming.
She didn't move, just fidgeted with a scrap of paper that she'd plucked from the cushion beside her. I took a second to look around and realized that there were tiny pieces of paper all over the floor at her feet, scattered across the coffee table and end table, some of what I’d thought was tissue wasn’t tissue at all.
"Talia, I came here as a favor to Ali, but frankly, you're starting to scare me, too. I need you to say something. Please look at me."
If she didn't say or do something soon, I was going to go over there and move that curtain of hair myself.
"I'm sorry."
The words were so soft I wasn't sure I heard anything at all. I leaned forward, forearms on my knees as I studied her, waiting for something more.
"I didn't mean to scare anyone."
She spoke louder that time but her voice was off, her words slurred slightly. I looked around the apartment and spied a bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter, originally hidden from view by the raised bar. I was familiar with the brand. It was expensive and strong, a favorite of mine. From where I sat, it looked to be nearly empty. I turned back to her with a frown, poised to ask her about the bottle when I locked eyes with her for the first time.
Son of a bitch.
She'd swept her hair aside, finally revealing her face, and her expression was like a kick to the gut. Jesus. It was like looking at a stranger, none of Talia’s usual spark was there. Her eyes were empty, devoid of any signs of life, flat. Thankfully, a quick scan of her features showed no bruising or obvious injury but that look...
If pain were to take the form of a person, she would be it.
It actually hurt to look at the expression on her face, stole my breath and made my pulse roar in my ears.
I moved without thought, instantly sinking into the cushion beside her and reaching for her hand. She didn't shy away, didn't seem to react at all. Her flesh was cold to the touch and I barely resisted the urge to rub her hand between both of mine, something my mother used to do when I was a boy and had been outside playing in the snow. "Talia, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you get bad news? What is it?"
She just shook her head, blinking with slow deliberation. Her light brown eyes remained shuttered long after her lids ascended. She looked right through me.
I had to try a different approach. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me but can you tell Ali? Where's your phone?"
She gestured absently toward the kitchen, unblinking.
It was all I could do to force myself to go retrieve it. I didn't want to leave her sitting there like that, but she needed to talk to someone and Ali was probably the best bet.
I scoured the countertop but didn't see the phone. I checked the entire kitchen without luck, and was just about to turn back to ask her if she was sure it was in the kitchen when a large bowl of dry rice caught my attention. On a hunch, I walked over and stuck a hand in the bowl, swirling it through the rice until I found what I was looking for. Talia's phone.
I tapped the home button as I made my way back to the love seat and found that the ringer was off, the little icon on the lock screen announcing the setting. I flipped the tiny switch on the side of the phone to turn it back on and looked over at Talia. "You got this wet?"
