Page 9 of Finding Fate

Fate

Before

Me:Good morning, sunshine!

Me:Haven't heard from you in a few days, just wanted to check in.

Me:How's school going?

Me:Only a few more months! EEP!

Me:Hey. Stop being rude. Respond to your sister.

I swipe the black liquideyeliner across my lid, spreading the edges past my eye for the perfect winged look, and watch as seconds turn into minutes with no reply from Destiny. I move to my hair, my eyes never leaving the phone resting on the sink as I toss the two pink sections into messy buns.

The tenth time I press the Home button, just to make sure I didn't accidentally miss a text, twenty minutes has passed and I'm pacing the room. With each turn through the small living room, Dobby hot on my heels, worry grows, causing a slight panic that sends my heart into palpitations.

Something is wrong. She always responds, even when in class. She knows I worry like a mom.

Me:Okay, I'm starting to freak out. Maybe I should come up to school.

Me:Seriously, Destiny, write me back. Now.

Me:I think I'm going to puke. Destiny. Answer me.

Me:I'm going to track your phone if you don't write back now.

Me:What in the hell are you doing at home? Are you sick?

Me:Answer me.

Hands trembling, I flip to a new text string.

Me:Is Destiny sick?

Mom:Not sure, honey, I've been on back-to-back doubles. We've been missing each other the past couple of days. Is she sick?

Me:That's what I'm asking you. She's not responding to my texts, and her phone says she's at home.

Mom:That's odd. I didn't see her when I left a few minutes ago. I just assumed she'd already left for school.

Me:Fuck, Mom. I’m trying here, but I’m not there all the time anymore. I need your help keeping track of her. You are her real mom, after all.

Mom: Yes, I know.

Not taking the time to overanalyze the angry, uncalled-for text I sent Mom, I shove the phone into my back pocket and rush out the door with barely enough time to get a new rawhide to Dobby before it slammed shut. My fingers tremble as I zip up my Strawberry Shortcake hoodie to protect me from the cold drizzle.

The two miles to Mom’s seems like a hundred as my legs pedal faster and faster. Halfway there, the drizzle turns to sleet, the sharp ice pellets like needles pricking my numb cheeks. My fingers tingle and burn as they grip the handlebars in the elements.

The bike never slows as I reach Mom's building; I simply hop off mid-pedal, allowing it to slam into the brick as I bound up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. Numb fingers and trembling hands make it challenging to slide the key into the lock, but a few curses later, the lock clicks open and I shoulder through the door.

"Destiny," I shout through wheezing breaths. Cardio has never been a top priority. "Destiny, get your ass out here. I don't give a fuck if you're on your deathbed."

Darkness swallows my shouts. Blinds down and curtains pulled tight, just the way Mom likes it when she needs to sleep after a graveyard shift. As I barrel toward Destiny's room, my hip nails a side table, sending a thrift store lamp crashing to the ground.

I flip the light switch in her room. Now my heavy breaths are from what I don't find.

No. No. No.

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