I rolled off the bed and had a good stretch, scratching my already itching arm. Once my feet touched the ground, both Mason and Jar came over, purring and bumping into each other before winding through my feet. Mason, the larger of the two with a big body of lush orange-and-white fur, tried to get the most leg action. Jar kind of gave up and stepped back, his black tail tipped in white flicking back and forth. I stood, making sure not to trip over either of them, and went through my morning routine, trying not to think too much about the day ahead.
I had to relax, take it easy, because the second I started to freak out, I knew I would back out.
And I couldn’t do that. Not this time.
Today I was going to hire someone to hunt down whoever killed my boyfriend.
I was going to work toward closure, because after six long, exhausting, painful years, I still didn’t feel whole. I went to sleep and woke up knowing, each and every day, that Derrick’s killers were still out there, living their life to the damned fullest while my best friend, my other half, was now lying flat on his back under six feet of cold, hard dirt.
It made me nauseous. I splashed my face with cold water in my bathroom. The pale yellow walls reflected in the mirror had a calming effect, and the cool water dripping down my face was refreshing.
I finished getting ready, deciding to throw on a cute light-pink button-up shirt and short white shorts. It was getting hotter and hotter in Miami, and I wasn’t about to turn into a puddle before I even made it to the detective agency.
My phone buzzed loudly across the kitchen counter. My apartment was a small one-bedroom place, so it took me only seconds to run and grab it. It was excitement that made me run. Excitement mixed with hope.
“We want to notify you your power bill… ugh.”
The phone found itself back on the counter. I headed back to my room, shoulders slumped, Mason and Jar watching me from their cat tree. I wondered if they could sense the disappointment rolling off me in waves. And it wasn’t because I was strongly opposed to paying bills (which, I mean, who isn’t?). The disappointment came from the fact that I was a dumb klutz who couldn’t get his life together if he tried.
I was on the way to the airport when it happened. We were waiting for our cab when Will asked to see something on my phone. A photo I had taken the day before. I handed him my phone, and he checked out whatever photo he was looking for. When he handed it back, the phone slipped through my hands, falling down to the floor and bouncing across the pavement, where a conveniently placed sewage grate was waiting for possibly eons to swallow my phone whole. With its sole mission in life accomplished, I’m sure the sewage grate was one happy clam.
Me, on the other hand? I was a mess. That’s where I had so many memories, not to mention all the photos and videos I had just taken on the trip, none of which were backed up to the cloud because I was honestly a little suspect.
Weeks later, without any of my photos and (most importantly) contacts, I was ready to beam my own consciousness up to the cloud just to keep it safe. Take whatever damn thing you need, so long as I could always access the things I needed to.
One of those things? Beckham’s phone number. When my phone fell and died a terribly disgusting death drowning in sewage, I too died a horrible and brutal death.
The only way I knew how to contact my handsome British knight in shining armor was through that phone.
Well, why couldn’t he call on a replacement phone, I’m sure you’re asking.
Funny story. Being overseas, I had a different phone number, and I got that one confused with my actual number, therefore giving him a Frankenstein of a number by accident.
He couldn’t reach me. I couldn’t reach him.
It was tragic to the nth degree. Not even a storyline on the original seasons of The Real World would have this much drama. It royally sucked seeing as how I had never felt more comfortable with someone before, and I had never been so attracted to someone before either. Even with my dick going on temporary strike that night, I knew that the chemistry between us was unmatched.
“Ughhhh.” I dragged my feet and finished getting ready. All I could do was focus on today and work on tomorrow; there was no point in dwelling on the past. I couldn’t. If I did, then I’d be in much worse shape than I was. It wouldn’t just be dark streets that scared me, but lingering glances from strangers, a stronger breeze than normal, a loud sound that could be anything. Thankfully, years of good therapy got me to a place where I wasn’t an anxiety-riddled mess for twenty-four hours of every day. I had a couple of triggers, hence my freak-out overseas, but for the most part, I was able to keep things under control.