Killing (And Other Games)

(Thirty Five)

(Thirty Five)

To avoid ending up on a missing person's list I decide to make contact with the human world. There are fifteen missed calls from mum and a million aggressive 'call me' texts from Joan. I stand in my lit up living room sipping soda, trying to work out who I'll call first. My mum, I decide, because I owe her a phone call.

I click her contact number and hold the phone weakly, staring off into the distance. I don't know where we're at; I don't know what she knows or when the last I saw her actually was. My brain feels like jelly thinking about it.

"Imogene?"

"Hey mum."

"I don't even know what to say," mum whispers.

I take a deep breath and sigh. If I can handle watching my friends fight I can handle this. "Listen to me. Things have been strange lately mum. I've been readjusting to this life and it's been difficult. I'm sorry for not calling, I'm sorry for whatever has happened lately, but I really just want to move on."

"Move on?" Her voice wavers. "Immy, the last time I saw you, you were screaming and yelling at me and then...I just don't understand why you've been missing. What have I done?"

"Aw, mum, come on, you know it's not you. I just haven't been going through a good time and-"

"This is more than just not a good time." I bite my lip, rubbing at my eyes. How am I supposed to explain this to her? How am I meant to tell her without telling her?

"I don't know how to explain this to you. I've just gone through a lot in a very short amount of time."

"What? What is it? Drugs?"

"No," I hiss, trying to stay calm. "It's nothing you need to worry about mum it's just personal stuff, friendship stuff."

"Imogene, I need to know."

I bite my lip so hard it bleeds, the skin peeling off. My cheekbones ache as I try to not cry. "I...I just can't tell you. You've got to believe me. You've got to believe me that everything is going to be okay soon and I'll be back to normal."

"Normal?" She breathes, pauses, and thinks of what to say next. "You can't imagine what I'm thinking has happened."

"Just don't think," I beg, "just trust me." I don't know what I'm asking for anymore. Forgiveness for ignoring her? Forgiveness for what Charlie did? Forgiveness for the people I've met, the things I've done? I don't know. I really don't know anything anymore.

But she doesn't offer me help. She doesn't say that I can always rely on her. She doesn't reach out any sort of hand. Deep down that angers me. It makes me wonder how I'm ever going to get past any of this.

"Things need to improve from here Immy."

"I know."

She breathes deep and then asks in a forced way, "When will you come over?"

"Soon. Not...not tomorrow, but maybe the day after." You can hear the anger on the other side of the phone.

"If I knew you were going to disappear like this I wouldn't have let you go to university at all," my mother quips.

I beg myself, pinch my arm, to stop myself from retorting aggressively. "Everything is going to be fine."

"I just don't know what to say Immy. You insisted on leaving home and..." her voice fades into white noise as my vision blurs. I insisted on leaving home? I can't even form coherent thoughts at this point.

"Okay mum," I whisper when I hear silence. "Whatever the hell you say."

"Imogene, don't take that tone with me."

"Okay. Look, I'll be 'round in a couple of days and we can talk then, alright? I'm tired and I need to go."

"Immy-" I hang up even when I know that could be the final nail in the coffin. I don't know where we can go from here. I don't think there is anywhere to go from there. But it would've been worse if I kept talking. Everything is the colour of blood, my forehead throbbing with the beginning of a migraine. I consider calling my dad, to tell him to talk to my mum, but I don't want to snap at him-one parent alienated is enough-so I just text him and tell him that mum is mad.

On a rampage, I call Joan. It's almost a subconscious action to call her, no physical decision making on my behalf. She answers on the first ring and immediately she's going to make this a fight. This angered, triggered side of me is glad.

"Oh great, now you call. Apologising, I assume. Seriously Immy, you ditched me and totally hooked up with the guy I booked. What even was that? How drunk were you."

It's like I don't even know myself when I speak. "Joan, Joan, shut the fuck up for five seconds okay? I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you antagonizing me for no reason."

"What?" Joan demands.

"Oh, sorry, right, antagonizing means-"

"I know what it means," Joan hisses. "I just have no idea what you mean by it. All I've ever been is nice to you. Nothing has changed since school except you."

"Excuse me?" I demand, slamming my fist down onto the bench, realising vaguely that she can't see my external anger.

"You've changed since you moved into that house. I don't know, I guess you must just think you're better."

"I...I don't even know what to say to that Joan. You're crazy."

Joan wheezes in hard, read for the attack. If I were with her I'd slap her. Hard. Everything is bright, bright red. "Crazy? I'm crazy? Then what would that make you? You actually think Ryker likes you? Immy, get a grip."

This fat idiot actually thinks she has the right to tell me who will or will not like me. Maybe she should start with getting to the first base, I think harshly. Then, when the silence draws on, I realise I said all of that out loud. I just listen to Joan's heavy breathing before I make my next move.

"I think we need to forget the boys," I say carefully. I don't feel like apologising. I don't feel like a good person but I don't feel like apologising either.

"I don't care what you think Immy. No guy is ever going to go for you, you're a rude bitch." I accept that one comment but the veins in my forehead still ache in anger. "Ryker just pities you."

"Oh my god," I whisper, pressing a sweaty hand to my face. "Oh my god."

"Have fun by yourself because I've got all my friends and I'm going to get the guy too." The laughter that bubbles up inside of me is almost foreign. "I'm sorry I ever tried to help you."

"Help me? I was practically begging for your help and all you could do was go on about how great your life was."

"Oh please," Joan snorts. "It's only ever about you."

It takes me a moment to realise my phone is on the floor in pieces. There's still some faint noise coming from it, Joan's nasally voice, but little shards of glass scatter out around it and the screen is a mess of pixels and cracks. Fuck. I lean down to pick it up and hear the dying fade of Joan's voice.

"...Soon you'll realise that I was the only friend you ever had Immy and then you'll be very sorry..."

I pick the remains of the phone off the ground and throw it hard against the wall. All I see is red.