3:30pm

54: "Do you . . . pray?"

                 <When I die put my ashes in the trash bag>

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The top of the cement bench was cold beneath my butt. Sniffing, I wiped away the tears that were in my eyes. Tears that surfaced once more the moment they were cleaned. It'd been that way since the past thirty minutes I left the hospital building; the tears wouldn't seize nor would my leaky nose. I wasn't exactly crying. No. There were just tears in my eyes that wouldn't go away, that were constantly forming. It was almost as if my eyes would never be dry anymore. 

I sat on the bench, staring with heavy eyes at my phone, my teeth actively working on my lower lip. I wanted to hear my mom's voice, wanted to hear her call my name, because maybe that was the only way I'd be able to relax a little. But then I knew that in the course of talking to her I'd have to tell her that I was pregnant. I mean, I knew sooner or later I'd have to tell her anyway, I just . . . didn't think it'd have to be this way.

I leaned off the back of the bench then, my eyes never leaving my phone. I drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. I was in a state of dilemma—I didn't know what to do. All my options were useless, everything led down to calling my mom in the end. To telling her about the child forming at the pit of my stomach. Tell her it belonged to Stephen who was now battling for his life inside an emergency room all because of me.

My jaw trembled and my eyes clouded, filled to the brim this time. Silently, two drops fell from both eyes, splashing onto the wrists of my hoodie. 

My eyes fell on the blood stain on my hand, getting darker now. I needed to get it off. Looking at it made me feel sick. Made me feel like Stephen was gone already. 

I sucked in a breath through my nose, leaned into the bench so my back rested against it and then I turned on my phone. The time read 7:30pm. It'd been a really long, abnormal day. Now all the adrenaline had slowly seeped away, I was left with nothing but tired bones and aching muscles. 

Raising the palm of my hand to my eyes, I wiped them dry before tapping on the call icon. Slowly, with notable hesitation, I began dialing my mom's phone number, counting each number as the time went. When I got to the last figure which was 2, I paused.

My eyes remained on the glare of the screen, dry this time. Slowly, my thumb reached for the pad and tapped 2. The number appeared beside the rest. I lowered my thumb to the call symbol. Again, I paused, my thumb hovering above the icon, but my hesitation was short-lived. I tapped the icon and raised the phone to my ear immediately, folding my lips.

It rang. No ringtone. Just a steady beep that was oddly calming to me. And like that it went, beep beep, until the call cut. I brought the screen to my face, my eyes darting to the time. No way she was in bed now. It was only 7:40.

Should I call her again? I mused. Maybe this is a sign that I didn't need to tell her yet.

She didn't give me much time to contemplate though because about a minute later, she called back. The loud ringtone of my phone jerked me out of my thoughts rather violently, causing my shoulder to jump. The effect of that was my phone dropping out of my hand and clattering to the floor, and a further effect was a thin line across the face of its screen. Ignoring the line, I answered the call too quickly for someone who was hesitant.

"Cleo? Honey, how are you?" Mom said the moment I put the phone to my ear. "I know I was supposed to call you this week and trust me I'd been meaning to, but oh there's been a lot of stuff going on with work and Manny and his father. Manny has been having these tantrum episodes the entire week and, jeez I've got a headache now. How are you, Cleo?"

I didn't know when my lips stretched into a toothy smile. Or when my eyes moistened once more. It was the best feeling in the world hearing my mom's voice at this time. It took away all the dread and guilt and blame. It made me forget. It made me smile.