Page 41 of Haunt Me

I find the remote beneath the pillow and shut the television off.

The silence is worse.

It always is.

I scrub both hands over my face, dragging my palms down until they catch on the stubble along my jaw. I need a shower. Food. Coffee. Water would probably be a good start, but the bottle on the nightstand is closer than the sink, and the small amount left at the bottom looks like the only thing in this room that might quiet the pounding inside my skull.

I reach for it anyway and finish whatever’s left, a decision made lower down than conscious thought, before I’ve fully admitted to myself that I’m making it.

My phone buzzes beside me, vibrating against the mattress. I turn it over and look at the screen.

Knox: You alive?

He’s been calling and texting every day. He leaves messages when I let the calls go to voicemail, though I stopped listening to them weeks ago because hearing his voice makes home feel too close.

The message sits beneath seven others I never answered.

Knox: Call me.

Knox: I’m serious, Wolf. Just tell me where you are.

Knox: I’m not asking you to come home.

Knox: It’s been three weeks since I heard from you.

Knox: Answer your fucking phone.

Three weeks.

I read it twice as though I don’t know how long I’ve been gone. Like I haven’t measured every day by the motel checkout times, every night by the level in whatever bottle I bought before finding somewhere to sleep.

I tap the box at the bottom of the screen.

Me: I’m fine.

The words appear, and for a moment I consider sending them. Knox would know they’re a lie, but maybe a lie is enough. Maybe he only needs proof that I’m still capable of moving my fingers across a screen.

I delete them.

Me: Leave me alone.

I delete that too.

The phone buzzes again while it’s still in my hand.

Knox: Please.

That one hurts more than it should.

I stare at the phone until the letters blur together. My thumb hovers over the screen, desperate to say something, anything.

I'm fine.

I'm sorry.

Stop looking.

Come get me.