Page 88 of Delayed Offsides

I don’t know what to think of that. I kinda prepared myself for her to be here and the verbal beating I would be subjected to. And then we can have sex, and I can make her forget her own name for a while. And that she’s mad at me in the first place.

When I walk in, it appears she’s been there but left, even left a half glass of chocolate milk on the counter.

It’s then that I look around to see if she left a note. Nothing.

I even check around in the bathroom and then the closet to make sure her clothes are still here. Everything’s there. She didn’t move out, but where is she?

Maybe she’s with Ami.

I change out of my soaked clothes and then go back to the kitchen. Picking up my phone, I type out the text to her and then wait for a reply, twisting my phone in the palm of my hand like I do a puck when I’m nervous or thinking.

Me:Callie with you?

Ami:No. Evan and I are at dinner.

Me:K. Let me know if you hear from her. Please.

Ami:What did you do now?

Me:Not important.

No way did I want to explain that to her.

Me:Just let me know if you do.

Ami:OK.

Setting my phone on the coffee table, I sit down on the couch and stare at the black television.

And then I begin to obsess. Where the fuck can she be? It’s ten o’clock. If she isn’t with Ami, who could she be with?

With her dad?

And that pisses me off, too, because then I imagine her sitting there with him as she pours her heart out, and he fumes, all the while thinking what a low-life piece of shit he always knew I was.

And her agreeing. Finally.

I’ll be honest, I want her to hate me. Probably because I hate myself for the things I’ve said to her and the way I’ve acted the last eight months.

But then I remember nothing could make her turn to Ed for comfort. Maybe she’s with Bethany.

Hours go by.

With each passing one, the next is longer.

After a while, I’m pissed she hasn’t bothered to tell me where she’s at.

Around one, I text Ami again.

Me:Have you heard from her? I’ve texted her and called her over and over again. Nothing.

Ami:No. Let me try calling her and see if she answers for me.

I wait not so patiently. I pace and bite my fingernails. I chew on my lip, break a beer bottle in the sink and then think about taking the glass and cutting my throat for being such a bitch about all this shit.

My phone dings.

Ami:No answer. We’re coming over.

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