Page 36 of Severance

“I thought you never read it.”

“I started, but it’s hard to follow. I believe it would make more sense if it wasn’t a bunch of records thrown together.”

“I don’t think you get the whole point of literary fiction.” The change in Mikah’s tone tells me he’s getting frustrated with my questions.

“Yes, I do. I remember what you told me—it’s a time capsule. It reflects the state of society at a given period of time and doesn’t change based on present day society or expectations. We read tons of the Victorian era authors in high school. I get the idea of what he was trying to do.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because this is a fantasy book.”

“What’s wrong with fantasy being written in the form of diary entries?”

“It makes the reading experience less pleasant,” I confess.

“No one’s making you read it.”

“You told me to.” I laugh a little, wondering if he remembers. “You said it was the best horror novel I’d ever read.”

“It is.”

“I expected it to be scarier.”

“You know when they say read, you don’t just read the words. You read between the lines.”

He sounds patronizing and I don’t want to argue anymore, so I change the subject. “Did you finish moving?”

“Almost.”

“Do you need any help?” The truth is, I want to see his new place. I wonder how different it is from the old apartment. I wonder if he’s put up the posters Dakota collected.

“You already asked me that.”

Oh, so he did see my text. “I know, but I just wanted to make sure.”

“I’m good.”

I hear him walking around, his muffled footsteps echoing on the line. There’s a faint click of a beer cap clattering against the kitchen counter and the slam of the refrigerator door.

“Do you talk to Luke at all?” I tread lightly, imagining him standing in the kitchen with the bottle glued to his lips and taking a swig. “He has another surgery next week.”

Mikah ignores my comments. “Look, I’m tired. I’ve been up since six this morning. I’m going to hit the sack. Talk later, all right?”

“Sure,” I whisper, my heart sprinting as I dread what usually comes after we talk. It’s a strange, empty feeling. A withdrawal of sorts. I suppose addicts experience something similar when they get cut off.

My shaky voice must give away my anxiety, because Mikah’s tone softens. “Hey, Cupcake Queen,” he says. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Okay.” I swallow past the growing lump in my throat.

“I’m serious. Don’t fucking let this shit define you and your life. You’re too fucking good.”

My messy emotions swell in my chest. Mikah’s never said anything this nice to me before, and the way he pronouncesgoodmakes me shiver all over. It sounds a lot like the way Dakota used to say it, dragging the vowel a little.

“I’m not.” I battle the onslaught of memories. My words come out slurred. “I’m not sure what I am anymore. I’m just so tired of everything. I’m tired of being scared all the time.”

My gaze stills on the wall as I wait for Mikah to say something, but the silence that fills the line seems to go on forever, until he finally murmurs, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, good nig—”

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