Permanent Scars

Scatterbrain 1.1

October 19, Sunday. 10:35 p.m.

The pad of my thumb hovers hesitantly above the call button—the one thing standing between Adam and I. Honestly, I'm so terribly tempted to call him and tell him what's up. That I'm not safe, that I need his help. But oh, how to explain the mess when he gets here? Blaming it on hail damage would be an outrageous lie. I badly want to tell someone the truth. But I don't know who to trust.

   I've spent the entire day picking up the mess, putting things back together as best I can. Should anyone come along, I don't want them thinking I can't take care of myself.

   Mackerel is gone. I can't find her. I've searched everywhere, but there's no trace. She isn't in the garden, in the house, in the surrounding woods. I even went so far as to check the neighboring yards. Nothing. No sign she ever even existed.

My poor baby, I could have done so much more to protect you.

   I wonder if Daddy would say something like that if he could see the mess I'm in.

   Huddled in a blanket on the couch, hunched over my phone, thumb so close to the call button. I want to do it so badly.

   Finally, I compromise with myself. I just need to hear his voice. I will call him, just to hear him speak. Just to give myself some sense of security. A sense that someone cares.

   Thumb hits the call button. Lift the device to my ear, hear the dull tone ringing on the other end awaiting pickup.

   My left hand fingers cross tightly.

   Please pick up, Adam. Let me hear your voice. Please.

   "Please..." I find myself voicing the plea aloud, voice choked and desperate.

   Something clicks and I hear breathing in place of the tone.

   "Hey!"

   "Adam. Thank God." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

   I can almost hear his confused expression. "Y-you alright?"

   "Yeah, I just... I really needed to hear another voice right now." It's really an excuse, but least it has a grain of truth.

   "Aw. Well, hey, it's what I'm here for. You want me to come over?"

   Yes! Come over! Liberate my exhausted mind!

  "No, that's okay. It's...late."

   "I know, but you sound really upset. I get the feeling you don't want to be alone."

   Why can't I just be honest?

"Okay...so, if you don't want to talk about why you called, what do you wanna talk about?" His tone is kind, not reprimanding, but I detect a trace of suspicion.

I'm not sure how he can tell. Then again, he's always been pretty good at reading me.

Meowing in the background suddenly feeds a topic into my mind: I can tell him my cat is missing.

"Mackerel's gone, I can't find her anywhere."

"How long's she been missing?"

"Couple days now. I dunno. I can't remember."

Surprise brightens his voice. "You? Unable to remember? How is that possible? You've, like, got the most amazingly detailed memory of anyone I've ever known! Are you losing your mind?"

   Yes, yes, I'm losing my mind. Why did it take you so long to figure that out? It's falling apart, I'm going to crack. If I haven't already.

   "I don't know why I don't remember. I just know she's gone."

   "Sometimes cats do that," he reasons gently. "Pickwe does it all the time. They're independent creatures. She's probably just gone on an expedition and she'll be back before you know it."

   "I have a hard time believing that. She's never been one to wander off.  The garden's as far as she ever got."

   He sighs. "Look, I dunno what else to tell you. I can't promise anything. I don't know where she is. Would you like me to look for her tomorrow morning?"

   "Uh...sure, that'd be...um, that'd be great."

   "You gonna be at school?"

   "I don't know. Are you?"

   "Yeah. Tris said I'd better. Told me to get over it. She won't tolerate me hanging around in the type of mood I've been in."

   "That sounds harsh."

   "It sounds that way, yeah, but I think she's just fed up with my moping. I am too, if I have to be honest. But I dunno how to shake it."

   "Can I let you go?"

   "Huh? Uh, of course. Why...?"

   Sweating, trembling, not bothering to explain, I hang up. I sit here, body convulsing, utter confusion clouding my already foggy mind.

   Why don't I feel normal? I'm not sick. This is something different. But what?