Blood Throne

chapter two

Melanie

I wander around my apartment aimlessly, absentmindedly piling up laundry into my hamper to wash for the coming week. I load the clothes into the washing machine and start the cycle, staring at the wall like a zombie. It's almost twelve in the afternoon, and there's been no word from Isabel yet. I called Gabby twice, who also said she hadn't heard anything. We said our goodbyes and promised we would contact each other if anything came up and that was that.

Gabby and I talked an hour ago, and I fought myself from calling Gabby again, so I decided to do mindless chores to keep me busy.

Earlier this morning, I went by Isabel's place, and she was nowhere to be seen. Her car was there, which gave me a sliver of hope before I realized I picked her up before we went to Nocturnal because she hated trying to find parking downtown. Her apartment was completely empty, and I sat for a good thirty minutes, waiting, then decided to go back home and let my worry eat me up inside instead.

After I'm done loading the laundry, I start cleaning up the kitchen. I even put on music to drown out the heaviness of my silent surroundings and robotically load up my dishwasher, clean the counters, and sweep and mop the floors. Once I'm finished and the smell of chemicals fills up the room, I leave and start in the living area. Nothing is even dirty, but I'm convincing myself otherwise just to keep myself occupied. Once one o'clock rolls around, I order a pizza for delivery and sit on the sofa, clicking through Netflix to find something to watch.

Around twenty minutes later, there's a knock on my door that makes me nearly jump from my skin. I leap to my feet and race to the door, my mind conjuring up the worst image possible of an officer on the other side, bearing news that'll make my world stop spinning. Then in a light of optimism, I imagine Isabel will be standing there, unscathed with a bottle of bubbly and orange juice as a truce and to cure our hangovers. Her hair would be a mess and she would have a pair of sweats on as usual. She would apologize and tell me about her night adventure as we ate the pizza I ordered.

Oh right, the pizza. I remember with a heavy sigh.

I turn to grab my purse from the hook and open the door, fumbling for my wallet. "Order for Melanie?" The driver says. He can't be a day over seventeen I notice. His skin is peppered with pimples, and he showcases an awkward toothy grin. He looks harmless—friendly, even. I nod and hand him thirty dollars, telling him to keep the change before I grab the box. He gives me a large smile, thanks me and nearly trips down the stairs as he heads back to his small beaten up Honda with chipping black paint and taped on bumper. Poor guy.

The pizza box is hot to the touch and covered in grease. I wrestle it back inside my apartment and shut the door with my heel. I place the pizza on my coffee table, staring at it with no appetite.

Isabel would tell me to stop sulking and eat, so that's what I do. I slap a steaming slice on a plate and sit, licking the grease from my fingers. I eat the pizza quicker than I would have expected and finish watching an episode from the series that Isabel and I always watch together on Sundays. She's going to kill me when she finds out I'm watching it without her. I can watch it again when she comes back and feign ignorance, her being none the wiser that her favorite character is about to die. She's going to be so pissed.

I go for the last bite of my pizza and freeze; mouth open slightly, eyes locked on the TV. There's a sound from across my apartment, an annoying chiming that indicates a phone call—not just any call, but a call from Isabel. I know that because she set that ringtone just so I'd stop ignoring her phone calls. Without hesitation, I'm at my feet and the pizza is discarded on the table as I quickly race to find my phone on the kitchen counter. As if someone was playing a sick joke on me, right as my hand seizes my phone, the ringing ceases and I'm left staring at the screen.