Most children would’ve run away a long time ago. They had their own lives to live, and too many complexes to stick around. Mercedes wasn’t like that. She wasn’t selfish. She was compassionate and honorable. She made her father’s food, took him to his appointments, and helped him get around. Who does that for their parents?
She was willing to do anything to save her father. She’d have sold her body, washed mountains of dishes, and sat through millions of customer complaints, all because she loved somebody.
I remembered the way she looked when she saw me donate to the Rose Foundation. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, watching her break down. The depth of her love for her family was inspirational.
I could learn so much from her—dedication, honor, sacrifice. She could’ve helped me become a better person. I could’ve helped her, too. Her father’s bills were one thing; it was a huge help, but I could change her world.
She didn't have to slave a
way for nothing. She could spend her time pursuing her ambitions without ever having to worry about whether or not she could eat or have a place to live. None of the daily struggles people went through would apply to her or her family. I wasn’t just mourning my relationship with Mercedes. I was mourning the life she could’ve had.
The next morning, after the event, I called Mercedes as soon as I got up. The first call just rang and rang. Then, she ignored me. After that, my calls went straight to voicemail. She had me blocked. I tried texting her easy stuff like, how are you, and good morning, but that didn’t work either.
I thought that she was just avoiding me after what happened and didn’t want to deal with things, so I let her be. I kept my phone in my pocket and never once took it out unless it made a noise. Every time it went off, I snatched it right up, certain that it was her.
It wasn’t.
I had to distract myself. I was losing my mind. I went to the gym and worked out until I couldn’t breathe any longer. When I got out, the sun was setting, and she still hadn’t called. I was certain that it would be soon. It was starting to get late, and there was no way she’d ignore me for a whole day.
I waited as long as I could before I called her. My number was still blocked, and she wouldn’t answer any of my messages. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t function. She was everywhere. Her scent was in the air; her sweat was in the sheets, and in the dust on the walls. Even the couch, where we’d first made love, was enough to set me off.
I couldn’t walk around the house and do nothing. I had to find some peace, but there was no relief from this, not without her. So I changed the sheets on my bed and retreated underneath the covers. The next day, I called her first thing in the morning, thinking that she’d answer now that she’d had some time. She didn’t.
There was no point in trying to call or message now. I was just making myself look desperate, and in all honesty, I was. I’d never been that guy before. I never wanted anyone, never. It was all about gratification, even with Becky. But with Mercedes, I fell, and I fell hard. I couldn’t even get off the bed.
I took another sleeping pill. I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. I threw the covers off. This was it. It had to be. She wouldn’t wait this long. I snatched my phone off the nightstand and looked at who was calling. It was Samantha, of all fucking people. I didn’t bother answering. I threw the fucking phone against the wall.
I slid back into bed and took another sleeping pill. I lost track of time. One night faded into another. Every morning was a reminder she was gone, and every single time I threw off that blanket was another time I’d have to get out of bed without her.
I had to accept it, but I couldn’t. It was the only thing in my life that mattered. I blew off work. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t even face myself. Instead, I huddled in bed and stared at the phone. I went through all of our messages, our pictures, even my call log, like a mother that couldn’t leave her dead child’s room.
The picture I stared at disappeared, replaced by a call notification. It was Andrew. The last thing I wanted to do was go out and get drunk. I’d just end up getting upset and making things worse. I didn’t want to see what worse looked like.
Andrew called back again, and I ignored the call again. When he called after that, I blocked his number, but that didn’t stop me from having to see the voicemail notifications. He called six times before I decided to call him back.
“Hello?” he said, with an edge to his voice.
“What do you think you’re doing, calling me like a crazy person?”
“A woman named Samantha at your office called me. She wanted me to do a wellness check. Apparently, nobody has seen or heard from you since Friday. What the hell happened?”
I sighed. “It’s nothing.”
“Fine, you don’t want to talk about it? That’s okay. But don’t make me leave empty-handed. Come out with me. It’ll do you some good.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Look, whatever this is, it was enough to make you skip work. You don’t do that, ever. Now I’m starting to worry, and I know that staying in will just make things worse.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Shit, Jake. Seriously. What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“You’re coming out with me. No arguments. I’m outside.”
“They let you in?” I threw the blanket off and stood up. “Who did that?”