Page 28 of Severance

“I don’t know. Tacos, I think.”

“Tacos are fine.”

We eat in the kitchen in silence. The food tastes like rubber dipped in hot sauce, but it does the job.

When I get back home at six in the morning, my father’s already up for work. I was hoping he’d still be asleep, but it’s one of those weird Saturday mornings. Perhaps there was a messed-up shipment or someone called in sick.

“Your mother and I didn’t sleep all night.” My father vocalizes his displeasure with a combination of anger and disappointment as soon as he sees me walking into the living room. “The least you can do is pick up the phone.”

“I was helping Mikah move some stuff to storage.”

“I don’t believe it’s a good idea for you two to talk.”

“Why not?”

My father sighs, and his tone softens. “Because you need to concentrate on yourself right now. Your school, your health, your future. You missed your therapy session yesterday.”

“I rescheduled it,” I counter. “I didn’t feel well.”

“That’s why you need to be consistent with your treatment, Alana. To get better. If you keep skipping, it won’t help.”

“I’m not skipping.”

“Why couldn’t Mikah find someone else to help him?” He’s almost pleading with his eyes and I notice that the net of wrinkles around them seems to have grown bigger. I wonder how much of that is my doing. “Why does it have to be you? And what are you wearing?”

I look down at my hands, my gaze sliding up to my chest and shoulders. I realize my coat is still in the trunk of my car along with the rest of my stuff I picked up from the apartment and I’m wearing Dakota’s jacket. “I’m tired, Dad. Can we talk later?”

“Yes, when I get home,” my father says, moving closer. He kisses the top of my head like he always does. “Get some rest now.”

I watch him leave and then drag my feet up the stairs and into my room with the intention of sleeping, but sleep never comes.

After fighting my racing thoughts for a little while, I get back to readingDracula.

10. After

On Sunday, I decide to skip church.

Asking for things from a random, obviously deaf man in a robe who already took everything precious from me is stupid. It’s not like my prayers are going to make him turn back time, press the replay button, and erase the attack or place Dakota and me somewhere safe. This stuff only happens in books and on TV. Real life is ridiculously cruel.

My parents aren’t happy about my decision not to participate in our sacred family tradition, but, surprisingly, they let it slide. Probably because being around me has become a living hell. Or maybe they believe I’m going to embarrass them again by sneaking out to get drunk, like I did at Dakota’s funeral.

There are no fights or lengthy conversations, just a quick, unexpected okay from my father.

I leave the house around eleven when my parents are still at church. The drive to the grocery store is short. It’s only a half-mile down the street and around the corner, and I feel really good about this trip. But right when my Prius pulls into the parking lot, bits of dread begin to trickle into my stomach. There’s a huge crowd near the entrance and the thought of going inside gives me goose bumps.

I look for a spot away from the chaos, park my car, and decide to wait. At quarter to one when both of my legs are asleep and my back is developing a deep ache from sitting in one position for so long, I grab my purse and fish out my phone.

He probably doesn’t care about your baking, Alana. Just leave him alone.

After a brief hesitation, I open my messages and text Mikah.

I’m going to try making a cheesecake today. Do you want me to bring you some?

My prediction is correct. He doesn’t respond nor does he read my message. Maybe he will later when he’s not busy or maybe it’ll be by mistake. Maybe there’s another Alana he’s seeing and he’ll confuse me with her and accidentally look at my text instead.

I wait some more, but eventually, the rumble in my stomach and lack of circulation force me out of my car. The outside air is deceivingly pleasant. Blotches of dirty ice scattered around the parking lot have almost melted, and although the wind is merciless, crawling up my sleeves and under my collar like an evil spider, biting and chomping, when the sun touches my face, the fusion of warm and chilly feels nice against my skin.

I rush into the store with my purse slung over my shoulder and my hands thrust into my pockets. However, panic seizes me as soon as my feet step inside. My gaze drops to the tiled floor and I stop for a second, trying to remember where the baking supplies are, but my mind draws a blank. My anxiety is now in full force, laughing at me. Why did I think I could do this?

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