These Violent Ends

Chapter Eight

Beep.

I glance away from my book to see my phone going off again. I grab it and look at the texts.

10 missed calls and 5 texts from: 'Jason 🖕🏻'

I put my phone down, facing the screen onto the table.

Beep.

I swing my legs out of bed and grab the phone. Without even a second thought I hurl the phone out the room. It hits the far wall of the apartment in the kitchen. It breaks and falls to the ground into several pieces. I drunkenly step out of the room, my finger tips grazing the door frame. I glance over at the bedroom to the left of me. Caley's room.

I walk over to it, knocking into the room. Her pink fuzzy carpets, slippers, and bed sheets are still how she left it that morning. Neatly done, not even a single piece of fur out of line. She used to brush her carpet, a weird quirk of hers. I find myself reaching for that carpet, falling onto it in my black ripped jeans. My fingers glide through the thick itchy fabric.

"Caley..." I mumble, my tears forming now. I let it out, sitting alone in our apartment crying on a fuzzy pink carpet. Her purple lamp remains on, something I've turned on every morning for her and turned off at night. Luckily she left the remote for it out of her room. I haven't been able to step foot in this room since she died.

I look up at her white and beige vanity. Photos of us and of her and Jason cover it. Some makeup remains open from when she was in a rush to get ready for dinner. I even spot the dresses she had been going back and forth between still hanging on the outside of her closet, facing out to the room.

I do my best to pull myself up, wiping my hands on my jeans. I glance behind me to find Jason standing at the door way, holding a case of beer and a shopping bag that clearly has hot Cheetos in it.

"I don't want anything to do with you, I told you this Jason!" I shout. I walk out of Caley's room, shutting the door.

"I came to make amends." He says. I roll my eyes, but I take the shopping bag and start unloading. "I'm keeping this." I say.

"I figured we could share." He says.

"As if!" I scoff. Then I pull out a bag of crushed greens. And some paper. I look up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Is this....?" I start, trailing away.

"Ever smoked a joint?" He asks. I am still mad at him. Trust me. But I am grief ridden. I am sick, sick with grief and sick of being in grief.

So without breaking away from looking at him, I open the drawer in front of me and pull out my lighter. I hold it out, switching the blaze on. "Why the hell not." I say.

Jason smiles and sets the beer on the counter. I start to crack them all open as Jason makes the blunts.

We crash onto the couch, blunts and beer and all. I switch the TV on and football is in and I groan. "I hate football." I say.

"Seemed like you enjoyed it in high school, kept coming to my games." He says, beginning his joint.

"Cuz Caley wanted to go." I say.

Jason sighs, probably thinking the same thing I am. We need to not say 'Caley' for the rest of the night.

A few hours sped by quicker than I thought. Lots of football, hot Cheetos, and a random ass card game Jason came up with. And lots of pot and alcohol.

Now we are on the floor, one of my feet are freezing against the wooden floors after Jason ripped my shoe off and threw it across the room. I glance up at him from my cards before tossing them to the side.