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Silent No More(77)

By:N. E. Henderson


“Okay, so what does that have to do with you and Nicholas?” she asks when I take longer than I should.

“Last week, Nick’s dad told him something that wasn’t true and he believed him,” I say, blowing out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in.

“What did he say?” she deadpans.

“Can we talk about it later? I have a migraine. I want to lie down.” I feel bad for brushing off her question, but it’s not like I’m going to tell her, and this is the easiest way to end the conversation. She eyes me like she knows exactly what I’m doing.

“Fine. We can talk later when your headache is gone. Why don’t you go get in my bed? It’s dark in my room.”

With that, I stand up and head off down the short hall to her room. Closing the door, I kick off my shoes and crawl into her bed. The mattress is soft and the covers are fluffy. Like she said, the room is dark, pitch black to be exact.

I shut my eyes only to open them a minute later. The throbbing in my head is pounding like the beat of a drum. I turn over onto my stomach and bury my head under her pillow. It doesn’t help. I can’t think beyond the need to drive a knife through my skull. If only that would relieve the pain, I would certainly do it.

I flip over onto my back and stare at the ceiling; I can’t see in this dark room. After an hour or so of repeating this, I manage to dose off.

When I awake, I don’t know how long I was out, but the throbbing inside my head is gone. Thank you, Jesus. Grabbing the blanket, I rip it off and sit up. Walking carefully in the direction of the door, I open it. The light flowing down the hall from the living room is enough so that I’m able to see my shoes lying on the floor. I bend down and scoop them into my arms and walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me.

As I make my way down the hall, I hear soft voices. It’s Katelyn and Stacy. They are talking in the kitchen. I make my way in that direction. I pull out a chair in front of the bar that looks into the kitchen and hop onto the seat. Both heads fly up like they’ve been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. I’m assuming I was the topic of their conversation.

“You’re awake,” Katelyn says.

“Obviously,” I deadpan. “What’s that smell?” I ask before she comes back with a smart ass comment to my sarcasm.

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” she tells me. “I thought you might need comfort food.”

“You know me too well,” I smile. Spaghetti is one of my favorite dishes and one of the only meals I can cook. Hers smells better than mine. She comes from a large Italian family, so I can’t be mad.

“Are you okay?” Stacy finally speaks. Am I okay? Not sure that is the right question to ask, but I know she is only trying to be nice.

“Peachy,” I say with a force smiled. They both roll their eyes at me.

“You don’t have to sound like a bitch,” Stacy spits back. I gape are her.

“Food's ready. I was about to wake you. Let’s eat.” Katelyn says as she opens a cabinet and removes three large, round white plates.

I hop off the chair and make my way into the kitchen to fix my dish. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. Honestly, I’m hungry, and now, I really need to eat considering there is now a child inside me. That’s about as much as I let myself think about the little minion growing in my belly. I’ll have plenty of time for that later, when I’m by myself.

After I pile a generous helping onto my plate, I grab a piece of fresh garlic bread, adding it to my plate before making my way to their dining table.

We all eat in silence, each one of us staring at the other every so often. This isn't the comfortable silence I usually have in the company of my friends. This is the silence where everyone wants to say something, but no one does for fear of saying the wrong thing.

“How long was I out?” I ask, trying to break the silence among us.

“Five or six hours,” Katelyn says through a mouth full of bread. This woman can devour bread. She loves it. I don’t know how she stays slender.

We fall back into silence throughout the rest of dinner. Once I’m done and all the plates are piled into the sink, I tell my friends I’m heading home. It’s late and I ache all over. A shower and a bed is what I need. Not to mention the dogs are probably starving. I don’t recall feeding them this morning.

“You don’t have to leave. You are welcome to spend the night here,” Katelyn says as she pours a glass of wine for herself. It looks good. I can just imagine the crisp, wet and cool liquid sliding down her throat as she takes a sip. Damn her.

“No, but thanks. I want to go home,” I tell them as I give both a hug and then exit their apartment. And I do want to be at home. I’m just not so sure it’s the escape I’m looking for.