One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 28

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Answer! Come onnn," Barbs says, egging me on. She's adding more glitter gloss to her pouted lips.

Don't do it. Oh fuck off, drunk Emmy. I swipe to answer.

"Emmeline Lou's phone." I can't keep from laughing at myself.

"Emmy? Em, is that you?" Brooks's voice sounds so far away in my little black box of noise. Which is weird cause he's still so close in my heart.

Drunk Emmy talking.

"Yes, it's, I am Em. Am Em. HA-HA," I giggle again. Zoë is going to pay for these Vampire shots. I roll my eyes and focus on my phone.

"Emmy. Why did you call?" He sounds angry. Grumpy. Annoyed. MF.

"Accidents," I say. "Didn't mean to. OK BYES!"

"DON'T hang up. Are you out?"

The door slams open and three separate superhero ladies walk through the door. Good. Maybe they're here to save me.

"We're on a call!" Barbie raises her eyebrows at them. "GET OUT!"

Barbie slams the door shut again. We are monopolizing the bathroom.

"Emmy where are you? You're DRUNK!" Brooks is screaming into the phone now.

"I know I'm am, but whats are you?" I wink at Barbie. "HEY! Brooks. Did you like my pic?"

"You better go home, Emmy." Brooks says. He ignored my question.

"You not the boss uh me," I pout. "You go home!"

"I'm fuckin' serious Em." Brooks curses loudly on his end.

I can almost picture his nostrils getting all flarey and his eyes getting all dark and stormy like that night we spent in the thunder. This is just like that night –the night he tried to slut-shame me.

"I'm seriousss, Brooks!" I giggle. Am I trying to eat my phone? Jesus.

"What the fuck Em. Why do you have to do this?"

"Whys do you haves to do dis?" I repeat, mocking his voice. He curses more on the other end. "UGH I HATE YOU!"

More thumbs up from Barbs.

"EM!" Brooks shouts into the phone. "Em, I SWEAR!"

"What? Huh? What d'you swears? Oh, that's right. NOTHING! HA-HA!" I laugh into the phone. Basically making out with my phone.

My phone is starting to feel like Jell-O in my hand. My legs feel like something even less stable. It's all hitting me. Brooks asking if I'm drunk, telling me I better not be out dressed like –uh a CAT, Brooks not caring about my photo, not calling me. It's all a taunt. And I fell for it.

I called HIM!

"Broooooks! Come on, baby. Let's go." I hear it on his end of the line.

A thousand miles away, across the motherfuckin' United States some girl is on Brooks's phone with him. At the very least she's close enough to him that I can hear her trashy voice.

"EM!" He's shouting again. Panic. Maybe vomit.

"I have new friendsss I am I'm to make. Goodsbye Brooks," I say, clicking the phone off. OK, well not clicking because this isn't 1996, but you get it.

I broke our cardinal rule of the telephone-verse. I said goodbye. Conversation terminated. Who knows if we'll ever talk again?

I turn my phone off completely. Shut down. I stick it back where it belongs, where it can't hurt me, where trashy girls and their trashy voices can't get to me. Down my shirt.