Page 39 of The Spider & the Storm

God, what the hell had happened? What had gone on at that bar? What had been said in that car? I wanted to ask, wanted to demand they give me the play-by-play so that maybe I could fix it, but I knew now wasn't the time. I needed to get Luke to bed. I needed Melanie to stop talking long enough to let me. I needed to draw and call Amanda, if she'd even answer, and I needed to think about everything I was going to say to Dr. Sibilia about this fucking night.

“Fine,” Melanie finally said, turning on her heel and opening the door.

“Melanie! Where are you going?” I cried, not caring that I sounded shrill and pathetic.

She didn't look back as she stepped outside. “Sorry, Charlie,” was all she said before closing the door.

Luke and I were silent for a minute, staring toward the oval stained-glass window and watching as the headlight beams flickered on, backed away, and disappeared down the street. For the second time tonight, I'd watched a girl I loved walk through that door, and we were both to blame.

I wanted to punch my brother for going out with Tommy and Rob, for getting drunk and saying the shit he'd said to her. Melanie had been nothing but good to us—despite her meddling. She hadn't deserved a word of his vitriol. But, I had to remind myself, he was drunk, and nobody could listen to reason when that very reasoning was impaired.

So, I said nothing as I sighed and steered him in the direction of the stairs, and this time, he complied without so much as a peep.

***

After he fell easily into a snore-broken slumber, I went to my room and closed the door. I picked up my phone and called Amanda, not caring that it was well after one thirty in the morning. I knew she had work the next day, knew she would likely be sleeping, but I didn't care.

I needed to talk to her.

I needed to apologize for everything. For my brother. For worrying and stressing and overthinking.

For beingme.

I needed to tell her I’d do better. I’dbebetter because I wasn’t Luke. I wouldn’t make her feel the way he’d made Melanie feel tonight. I wouldn’t make her cry, and I would never ever allow her to leave again.

I needed to tell her that I loved her. That I’d marry her if she wanted to. That we could have kids and a life, even if I had no idea how we’d make that happen right now. Nothing mattered. Just me and her and this hopeless ache sitting in the center of my chest.

So, when she answered the phone, I gasped with relief.

“Hi,” she said, her tone short.

She was still mad. But that was okay. I understood it now. And after I said what I needed to say, she’d feel differently.

“Hey,” I said, breathless and desperate. “Sorry I’m calling so late. It’s been a long night, and things are … things are kind of a wreck right now, but I need to talk to you.”

“So, talk.”

I didn’t love talking to Amanda when she was angry, and she got angry a lot. Her anger made me nervous—I never handled confrontation well—but I wasn’t worried in this instance. Because I was so sure that what I was about to say would calm her down and cool her off to the point that she’d forget she was ever angry in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” I began, hurrying to get on with it. “I’m sorry about before and for, you know, turning you down. I was just … y-you don’t know …”

I was stumbling on my words. My nerves were getting the better of me. I could hear Amanda sigh impatiently on the other end, and I squeezed my eyes shut, determined to get through this without making an ass of myself.

I took a deep breath and started over.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through with Luke’s friends,” I feebly explained. “They were never nice to me, especially this one guy, so when Luke said he was going out tonight—”

“Do you know how sick I am of everything coming down to your fucking brother?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “W-what? No, that’s not what—”

“It’s your brother, or it’s your nerves, or you have a stupid panic attack,” she said in a mocking tone, and a knot tied itself so tight in my throat that I wasn’t sure I’d make it through this call without suffocating. “God, I am sosickof it.”

“S-sick ofwhat?”

“You!” Amanda cried into the phone, and I dropped down onto my bed like a sack of bricks.

“You’re sick ofme?”

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