Hello Monday

Part 23; 9:46 am

Stepping into the future with Monday turns out to be harder than I expected.

"No, just lean on me."

"When the night, has come..."

"Excuse you. That's Stand By Me, for your information. But stop with the distractions! You need to focus on lifting your bloody leg."

"You got that right, princess. My leg sure is bloody."

"You know that's not what—hey, don't lift it like that. You're making it worse."

"Princess, I'll be glad to switch legs with you, but unfortunately, that's not an option."

"Just put more weight on me. Don't put too much pressure on that leg."

"I am!"

"Stop pulling my hair!"

"I'm not!"

A short huff of air escapes my nose the moment my feet touch the godforsaken ground floor. Finally.

I stop and lean forward to catch my breath, popping my neck in an attempt to relieve the rigid muscles there.

"Tired?" Monday asks me quietly. I crane my neck just to see the awful smirk on his face. I grit my teeth and clench my fist, very close to wiping it off his face with a punch.

"Don't tempt me," I growl at him in reply.

I harshly pull his arm and drag him to the cafeteria, the place that houses the only functional phone. Crossing my fingers. The place that is behind the set of double doors standing in front of us tall and proud. I size up the door and give it one strong push with my unoccupied hand.

It opens without a hitch.

I quickly pull Monday with me through the door. Once he crosses the threshold, I swiftly turn around to return the door back to its original position: closed away. I let out a breath of relief because that's all I'm feeling now. I feel a little better knowing that I am so close to getting help from whoever's at the end of the line.

I let my eyes roam around the room, however, looking at anything but the one thing I risked my life looking for. Truth be told, I'm scared. I'm scared to death. I'm scared that I will be disappointed as to what I find out from that phone call. That's why I'm willing to do anything to prolong this. Prolong this one thing that kept me going.

There's no more reason for me to be in a hurry.

I spot a chair nearby and start for it, seating Monday on it, careful to extend his leg so the chair doesn't press on his wound. "Wait here," I tell him.

"It's not like I can go anywhere with this," he points at his bleeding leg. I send him a pitiful smile at his attempt at a lame joke.

My eyes dart around the area, stopping when they land on familiar, green clothing in the lost and found bin. Rushing to it, I pick up the uniform with the same exact pattern as my vest that is now tied around Monday's leg. Instead of the sleeveless, low neckline cut vest, this uniform is a collared and short-sleeved button-up shirt. Perfect.

I scamper to Monday, handing him the valuable asset I found.

Oh, sue me. Finders keepers, right?

"Put it on," I demand.

Monday holds the shirt up in front of him as if it's a ten-year-old shirt that hasn't gone through a trip to the washing machine. Not that I'd know.

"And risk all those nasty germs hitching a ride on my body? Thank you, princess, but no thank you," he says with a sarcastic smile.

Instead of arguing with him, knowing it will eventually lead to nowhere, I snatch the uniform from his outstretched hand. I unbutton the shirt impatiently, nearly pulling the poor buttons off of their stitches. Holding the shirt in one hand, I harshly grab Monday's arm, putting it through one sleeve, then doing the same on the other side. I tug the shirt down, deciding to leave it unbuttoned for the classy, bad boy look. I'm sure this is how Adam Jones uses his uniform.

Wait, was it tucked in or out?

I leave it tucked out.

After making sure the uniform fits perfectly on Monday, I bend a little further to look at the condition of his wound. But before I can touch the vest I tied above his wound, Monday seizes my hand.

He stares at me for a while before pushing me backward. He points at the harmless object that sits on the wall, begging for me to use it. "Do what you need to do," he commands, leaving no room for arguments.

On instinct, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I'm not ready, but hey, when will I ever be? With that in mind, I open my hardened eyes, ready to face the call's recipient. After one look at Monday's encouraging smile, I turn my back on him and take determined steps towards the payphone.

The closer I am to the payphone, though, the more my steps falter. I spot the coin slot, suddenly just realizing that I left my wallet in the classroom on the seventh floor.

Oh, dear.

My knees buckle, almost giving out underneath me. Before I could fall, I arrive in front of the phone and grab the machine, holding myself upright. While doing so, I eye the contraption in front of me. I see it every day; breakfast, lunch, dinner. Yet today, exactly this moment, is the only time I am truly seeing it.

I have never seen a single soul use this phone. As written on the red sign above this machine, for emergencies only. Surely this can be categorized as an emergency, right?

I rub my head and close my eyes—something I've been doing a lot lately. Please, please, please be alive.

I open my eyes. My hand reaches out and latches onto the handset. I pick it up and put it to my ear. I strain my ear to hear the constant beeping noise.

I hear nothing.

I glare at the contraption, giving it another once-over. My eyes instantly land on the coin slot, eager to swallow the right amount of silver coins. Right, it should work after I feed it... right?

I am about to set the handset down, thinking the payphone is useless without the money that I do not have, when my pocket feels heavier than before. Now, I don't believe in superstitions, but there's no other explanation than the obvious one, no?

Is it you Dr. Sanders?

I reach a hand deep into my pocket, pulling it out to uncover the cold metal object, looking small in the middle of my palm. I don't know how much a phone call costs, let alone how long my conversation will be. This coin is all I have now, so I'll have to make do.

I grasp it between my fingers and insert it into the small opening on the top right corner of the payphone. I bring the handset to my ear once again. Holding my breath, I expect to hear the constant beeping sound a regular, working phone should make.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

After what seems like forever, I hear the distinct baritone noise the phone makes. I release the breath I am holding. I lift my hand and hold it over the dial pad, ready to press the numbers that are engraved in my brain. Without a second to waste, my finger moves of its own accord.

0 2 0 2 2 0 3 5

Wait. Or was it 5 3?

I bite my nails in fear. I can't mess this up. There's no more coins. The phone rings in a definite pattern, with a good few seconds between each ring.

I am near tears in anticipation when the ringing stops. My eyes widen.

"Hello, Linette."

The tears fall on the floor.