[398] Smells like rain

Crit: 657 Google doc here

Or you can read it down below. This was a 4am ramble from last night and I'd like to get some feedback. Completely unedited- please forgive any typos. I'm also usually more of a poet, so this type of writing is different for me. I'd love to hear what you think is happening in this story.

It’s been two weeks. Please, I just want to know you’re okay.

I set the phone down, clicking unread so the notification returns. I know, I want to say. I’m okay, I whisper to my dark room, the walls growing colder and taller each night. I don’t think he can hear me. I hope he can.

I carefully apply a dressing to the wound. First a t-shirt, then sweatpants, and finally a hoodie. It clings to my skin like a kind hand, and I shudder at the thought, rolling my shoulder to try and dispel the weight.

Starling at a movement from the corner of my eye, I glance up. My reflection is duskier than I remember, my once wild hair put down by a big game hunter stalking prey they never should have. Creeping along, inching closer, I think the fear becomes dull and monotonous at some point. My fingers wring against each other. My phone rings, the sound echoes around the icy walls. Wring, ring, wring, ring-

The next time I open my eyes, I’m walking back to my room. My feet drag across the ground, fighting through oil and honey. The blisters on my heels have burst. They ache, yet the sun shines. It feels wrong, my eyes squinting and watering from the glare. My phone vibrates again.

-a-i? -l-ea-e, j-s- t--k -o m-.

The water drips past my chin, carving well worn ravines, a faint memory of warmth trying to seep through. My phone falls back into my hoodie pocket, hitting jagged stones along the side of the cliff as it tumbles.

Something inside me already knows. Growing up without a father will do that to you. An endless well of patience, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am nothing if not prepared.

I can handle it, I swear. Say something. Anything.

That night, he’s waiting outside my door, standing guard on the porch. The sunlight hits his hair and for just a moment, everything is okay. Tricks of the light are cruel though. His eyebrows are furrowed, those gorgeous blue eyes riddled with red spiderwebs. I wonder how far the spiders have reached, how deeply they’ve burrowed into his skull.

“Smells like rain.” I mutter with distant eyes, a single dark cloud hovering above the horizon.

“It does,” he whispers back, but I’m already too far to hear.