My Cliche Love Story | ✓

Chapter 27

The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up from a short afternoon nap. I'm sure I look like a mess, but I grab it and answer. "Hello?" Sleep floats on my voice, making it crack and rumble.

"Hi, is this Alex Baker?" The woman on the other end of the line is one I don't recognize, and her cheerfulness seems forced, causing me to scrunch up my face, trying to figure out what's going on.

"Um, yeah, I guess so..." I scratch my bed head and ask, "Who are you?"

"Oh, my apologizes, you have to excuse my tendency to talk before introducing myself," she explains. "I'm Nicole Jansen, the editor in chief for Nashville's local newspaper. I'm sure you've heard of it?"

My mind's blank, and I can't think of anything else to say, so I just reply, "Okay."

"So, I'd like to ask you a few questions, Ms. Baker, if that's okay with you." 

"Questions? About what?" Now I'm semi-awake, so I'm sitting up on my bed, trying to fully comprehend the situation.

"I heard that you were a friend of Katie Adams, the girl that committed suicide a couple weeks ago?" She's so innocent sounding, it's cringeworthy. 

"Not really," I say bluntly.

"Oh, I'm sure you could answer at least five of my questions, though, right?"

"No." I sigh. "Listen, lady, it's been one week since this poor girl died. Do you really think that witnesses are going to be jumping on the opportunity to speak out? As one of the people who were there when she pulled the trigger, it's going to have a permanent effect on my mind and life, so I'd really appreciate it if you stayed out of it. Keep your giraffe-length neck in your own business, and don't be PMSing when I tell you -- politely -- to hang up."

She huffs. "I didn't mean to --"

"Okay, goodbye." I jam my thumb on the 'end call' button, laying back on my bed. How dare she call asking about Katie? She had to have known that it was too soon. 

Unfortunately for me, the calls don't stop there. Reporter after reporter reach me and try to ask questions about Katie Adams, the girl who shot herself, but I repeatedly tell them to find something else to write about.

One reporter -- of the male gender, I may add -- was especially rude about it.

"All I want to ask are some questions, you've got to have time for that. That's all I'm asking. Besides, it's not like you'll be hurting her feelings, if that's what you're afraid of, because news flash: she's dead. So answer my questions, and we'll just go about our happy lives." 

My frustration and offended response to his remark mush together to form offended anger. "Listen up, buddy boy," I begin, "I don't know how you got this job, but when you go asking people about their dead peers, you don't talk about them like they were just a failed procedure. May I remind you that this girl, of only seventeen years, shot herself underneath the chin and ended her own life. On her own account. Suicide, ever heard of it? Yeah, not something to be rude about. So please, just go away."

He didn't go away. 

"Do you know who you're talking to --" 

"Yeah, I do," I spit. "You're a little pest that needs to go learn a lesson from his mother again. Good. Bye."

My room is silent for only a couple seconds before the next bout of ringing is set off. I'm still fuming from the last reporter that I don't even see the caller ID spelling out the name Dylan. "Now is not a good time, so if you're going to ask questions about the recent suicide, I suggest you come back never."

"I was just going to ask if you were okay," a soft voice fills the receiving end of my phone, and I practically melt from my icy stature. "Dylan," I breathe.

He chuckles. "Yeah. You've been getting calls from reporters, too?" 

"For the last hour," I reply. I move to the window, and I see Dylan across from me. His perfect body is waiting for me and I hang up, climb out of my window and leap over to his room. He catches me and pulls me in, allowing me to collapse in his arms. "I just wish they'd leave us alone, " I add, breathing in his cologne.

He nods. "You and me both." He smiles. "You know, Alex, I never thought I'd feel like this with another person," he says. "It's never about anything long-term."

I hide my face from his. "Sorry I'm not like your other girlfriends."

"Don't ever say that," he turns to face me. "Don't ever apologize for something as superficial that." He kisses my forehead and sighs.

"I..." I pause. "I think I love you, Dylan."

He smiles. "Good. Because I've loved you for awhile."

02/21/2016