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I hated feeling like my life was a puzzle that I had to assemble. I hated even more that so many pieces were missing. How could I put any of it together when I didn’t even have enough for a full picture?
Suddenly weary, I pushed the crutches beneath my arms and went back to the laundry basket to fold up the now-empty clothes bag. As I was putting it aside, my gaze caught on the journal, and I reached for it.
My phone went off, and I jumped, one of the crutches clattering onto the floor, and I fell into the side of a dryer, gripping the remaining crutch.
The phone went off again, and I pressed a hand to my chest and rolled my eyes at myself. Straightening, I reached into the crossbody to pull out the new phone Ben had just gifted me. Guess I wasn’t used to the ringtone yet.
Who needs a creepy basement when you jump at the sound of your own phone?
“So not final girl material,” I muttered. My head came up, and I stared across the room, not really looking at anything, too busy feeling what I knew wanted to be a memory, but it was just out of reach.
I grabbed at the chord of familiarity my own words had somehow inspired. But the more I reached, the farther away the memory got.
Ben calls me final girl. It’s probably just something to do with that. The thought felt wrong, though. Like it didn’t have anything to do with Ben.
In fact, when Ben called me final girl, it didn’t feel familiar at all.
You like it, though.
Well, duh. Of course I do. I also like his tongue.
The phone went off again, this time ringing with an incoming call. Pushing aside my busy thoughts, I looked at the screen.
I snorted so loud you could hear it over the filling washing machines. He’d programmed himself into my phone as Fiancé.
Why did that give me insane butterflies?
Swiping to answer the call, I pulled the phone up to my ear. Before I could even say anything, the device beeped, signaling a dropped call. Pulling the phone down, I glanced at the screen, noting the low signal.
“No matter how thin you slice it, it’s still baloney,” I muttered, rather grumpy that I wasn’t able to hear Ben’s voice.
AKA It didn’t matter how nice you fixed up a basement, it was still a basement, and the Wi-Fi down here sucked.
It had only been a few hours since I saw him last, but I missed him. Following that thought, I tried to dial him back. That call dropped too. Remembering the notifications before the phone rang, I pulled up my texts, seeing Ben had messaged too.
Excuse me. My fiancé texted.
Girl, are your legs tired? ‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind.
I giggled out loud.
You better not be running. I forbid it.
Finishing up at the gym. We’re all going to dinner. I’ll come pick you up.
Jess?
I need you to reply, baby girl.
Where are you?
A notification for a missed call flashed onto the screen, and I swiped on it, seeing that Ben tried to call me again, but this time it didn’t even ring.
Knowing he must be worried, I pulled up the texts again and typed out a message, hoping it would go through. I’m doing laundry in the basement. No service.
The way he looked standing in the hospital bathroom a few days ago with his forehead pressed against mine flashed through my head. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His worry had been so palpable in that moment that I could still feel it now. Or you know, maybe that was because most of my head was empty, so the memories I did have had room to be bigger.
