Page 29 of Versions Of Us

“No.” Her voice is small, scared, her breathing uneven. “I mean, I don’t need police.”

“What’s your name?” I ask her, in an effort to distract her from whatever has her worked up.

She doesn’t reply. The line falls silent, and I begin to think she’s no longer there.

“Are you still there?” I ask gently.

“Yeah. Um. It’s… Em,” she replies with a sniffle. “My name is Em.”

“Em, do you want to talk to me about what has you so upset?”

I feel the tension even through the phone line. I can sense her uncertainty, her fear. I want nothing more right now than to fix this girl, a complete stranger to me.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, another sob escaping her.

I open my mouth to ask her why. Why can’t she talk to me?

But then the line falls dead again.

She’s gone.

She doesn’t call back.

Chapter 11

KRISTEN

I’m exhausted by the time I get back to Henley’s.

Not to mention thoroughly drenched through. The light drizzle of rain that had blanketed the town for most of the evening transformed into a heavy downpour just after I’d left the helpline. Not grabbing my umbrella on the way out the door had turned out to be a serious error in judgement.

I stumble up the porch steps, digging for my spare key in my saturated bag. I call out to Henley as I enter, hopeful he’s somewhere inside.

But it hasn’t escaped my attention that his car is still missing, and the house is in complete darkness.

I glance at the time on my phone, before sliding the key into the lock. It’s almost eleven thirty. Surely, he’ll be home any minute. Maybe the rain has slowed his journey home.

I kick off my boots, ignoring the puddle of water they leave at the front door and rake my hands through my soaking wet hair. I dump my bag on the small dining table, then wander over to the fridge, opening it for no real reason other than habit. I swing the door shut and then open the freezer. There are six tubs of caramel honey macadamia ice-cream staring back at me, all lined up in a row and despite my anxiety over Henley’s whereabouts it makes me smile.

I take out a tub, collecting a spoon from the top drawer and carve out a scoop, eating it straight from the container. I ignore the brain freeze it gives me and take another few mouthfuls before shoving the tub back in the freezer.

Too exhausted to shower, I change out of my wet clothes and into one of Henley’s favourite t-shirts. A tour shirt of one of the indie bands we’ve been to see together a few times.

I curl up on the couch with the remote and flick through the channels, though nothing on tv can distract me from the fact that he isn’t here.

I picture him walking through the door at any moment, scooping me up in his strong arms and carrying me to his bed.

At some point I must drift off into unconsciousness.

Suddenly, an unrelenting, shrill sound wakes me from my slumber and I’m sitting upright before I’m even aware that I’m awake.

My phone glows from the floor next to the couch, its vibration causing an unpleasant sound against the hardwood.

Henley’s face stares back at me from the screen, his eyes crystal blue against his golden skin, a stark contrast to the red baseball cap set backwards on his head. I’d taken that photo about a year ago, though I remember it like it was yesterday.

It had been a good day. A perfect day spent laying on the beach together enjoying each other’s company. I’d been stressed out with uni, fearing that I’d done badly in an exam, and Henley had whisked me off for a day of fun.

He’s always been the ying to my yang in that way. Him, a wild dreamer with his head in the clouds, and me, the voice of reason that keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground.

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