#(she will fumble so hard oh mg fucking god)

[kimmkitsuragi]

i simply dk about this exam man

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 5

“I walk through this world, just tryna be nice

They say I'll get hurt, if I'm not like ice

I know I've got friends, I still get so lonely

If I look in your eyes, I'll want you to hold me

I'm sorry that I care, care

I'm sorry that I care, care

It's really not that fair, fair

I can't help but care”

-- Feeings, Hayley Kyioko

__________

“Yo! Penelope! Wait up!” MG yells from across the dining hall as he jogs to catch up with Penelope. 

Penelope stops, letting the sea of exiting students pass by her. 

After ending their impromptu spell lesson in the woods with a literal bang, Penelope hadn’t returned to classes, opting to spend the remainder of the afternoon buried deep within the comforting stacks the library instead. Book had always been a bit of a sanctuary for her. No matter the time nor the place, they were ever constant. A reliable anchor in the chaotic sea of Penelope’s life.

Once leaving the Salvatore School and becoming nomadic, books— non-magical books— were a real luxury. Sure, there was always an abundance of ancient spell books laying around and Caroline loved to surprise Hope and Penelope every so often with an obscure text on mythical rituals and covens. But anything that fell outside of those realms was rare at best. 

The only book that Penelope had managed to keep amongst her few belongings-- besides her journal-- was a mangled copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It had been a one-month anniversary gift from Josie. A simple paperback version so that she didn’t have to lug around her first edition hardcover copy whenever she felt like re-reading it. It was her favorite. Not only within the series but possibly out of all the books Penelope had ever read. There was just something so oddly reassuring about the story itself. The ability to go back in time and right the wrongs of the past. 

Although Penelope had had to make the gut-wrenching decision to leave the book behind-- opting to take Josie’s yellow sweater instead-- she did remember that there was a stray copy of the book hidden away deep within the school library in the section where all the modern books with pop-culture references to witchcraft lived. And after locating it, she had curled up in one of the free wingback chairs and allowed herself to get lost within its pages. 

Sure, it wasn’t the most productive use of her time-- especially given the ever-present countdown ticking away in the back of her mind-- but one that still needed nonetheless. A little extra reassurance that just maybe there would be a happier ending to their story this time around.

But after an hour or two of non-stop reading, Penelope’s hunger had gotten the best of her and she decided to wander down to the dining hall for an early dinner. And to her luck, it had been almost deserted, with only a few young students sprinkled throughout the hall. 

The plan had been to eat quick and then retreat back to the safety of her own dorm room in the hopes that maybe Josie would be true to her word and swing by later. In and out. Unnoticed. As if it were just another day at Salvatore.

And for the most part, it had been successful… Until now.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to track you down all day,” MG says slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

“What’d you mean?” Penelope responds, trying to mask the growing ball of nerves within her stomach. 

“What’d I mean?? Pen, you were all set to up and peace out of here last night. You swung by my room to say goodbye and yet… You’re still here. What gives? I thought you were done with this place?” 

“I changed my mind.” Penelope holds her breath and silently says a prayer that MG will accept her answer at face value rather than digging a little bit deeper. 

“You mean Josie changed your mind.” 

“No… Not exactly… I just…” Penelope fumbles over her words, but it doesn’t matter. MG’s eyes light up with an all-knowing spark regardless. 

“Ah… I knew it! I… knew… it! You two are the freakin’ modern-day Romeo and Juliette man. Star crossed lovers. Destined to be together no matter what happens and all that shit.”

“MG…” 

“No, seriously Pen. That’s you and Josie. You guys give the rest of us hope, you know?” 

“Please tell me you aren’t still hung up on Lizzie.” 

“A boy’s gotta dream,” MG responds with a bit of shrug.

Penelope sighs. She shouldn’t do it… Just let sleeping dogs lay. It will all work itself out in time. MG will meet another vampire-- a transfer student from Denmark-- during his senior year at Salvatore, fall head over heels in love and forget all about his unhealthy obsession with the blonde-haired siphoner. The two will end up getting married and even go on to have an adorable baby boy who shares MG’s infectious smile. She really shouldn’t. But--

“Piece of advice?”

“Always from you.”

“Pick a different dream.”

“But--”

“Trust me on this, MG.” Penelope reaches out and places her hand down on MG’s shoulder, locking eyes with him as she does. “Pick a different dream.”

It takes a moment to sink in but then slowly MG’s face transforms into a look of common understanding. He gives a nod in return.

“Good,” Penelope replies and offers up a sympathetic smile. It isn’t much but it’s all she can think of doing without further crossing the line. “I’ve got a mountain of reading to get through tonight, so maybe we can continue to catch up in the morning? Over breakfast?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Great.” 

“Oh, wait! Pen, there’s something else,” MG says with a sudden urgency to his voice. “It’s Hope.”

“Hope? What about her?”

“Dunno. Think she got some bad news about Landon or something. She seemed pretty choked up last I saw her. Like she had been crying. Figured you might wanna know.” 

“Shit. Malivore,” Penelope mutters under her breath.

“Maliv- What?”

“Nevermind… Thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, no prob--” But Penelope doesn’t wait for MG to finish his sentence before taking off out of the dining hall and diving straight back into the sea of students.

__________

“Mikaelson! Open up,” Penelope bangs against Hope’s dorm room door a few minutes later sweaty and out of breath. 

“Go away, Penelope,” Hope answers back, voice trembling with tears. 

“Not happening.” Penelope waits for a minute or two for any sign of a further response but is only met with silence. She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”

Penelope takes a giant step back from the dorm room door and shuts her eyes. “Aperi ianuam.”

BANG.

The dorm room door flies open and slams against the wall causing Hope to jump out of her skin. “What the fuck?! Did you just use magic to break into my room?”

“Relax,” Penelope replies. “I do it all the time… Or I used too… You get what I mean.”

Penelope crosses the threshold into Hope’s room and then mutters an incoherent phrase under her breath. The door shuts close followed by an audible click. “See? Good as new.”

“Not the point.” Hope settles herself back onto her bed. She swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, in an attempt to mask all traces of her tears. But it doesn’t matter. Penelope already knows. Six years of spending every single moment side by side with the Tribrid and she doesn’t need much in regards to cues. All it takes is a slight quiver on the end of a word or a brief flash of raw emotion buried deep within those golden eyes. That’s all. And Penelope can piece the rest of the puzzle together.

Every time.  

“Move,” Penelope says as she climbs onto the bed and wedges herself next to Hope. 

“What are you--”

“No seriously… Move over.” Penelope gives Hope a nudge in the ribcage with her elbow and Hope obliges. “God, you’re such a bed hog.”

Hope shoots Penelope a hard eye roll. “Am not.”

“Oh, you so are, Furball. And a mad cuddler too, but we’re not gonna get into that one right now,” Penelope replies and slumps her head against Hope’s shoulder. It’s a selfish move… Especially given that this isn’t her Hope, but at the moment, she doesn’t care. It’s been beyond a day and her skin itches with the need for just a little bit of familiarity. “Right now we’re gonna talk about why you are hiding out in here and crying.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Let’s skip bullshit, okay? You were. And it must be about something pretty big cause you brought out Mr. Bearrington.”

Hope’s eyes instantly glance towards her nightstand where a raggedy old teddy bear sits slumped over on top of a pile of textbooks. “How did you…”

“I told you, Mikaelson,” Penelope says with a hint of a smirk. “I know you.”

“God, this is so weird.”

“You’ve got no idea.” 

A momentary silence settles within the room as Hope leans over to the nightstand and scoops up the teddy bear. She rubs her fingers in methodical circles along the stuffed animal’s threadbare ear over and over again and Penelope knows that this is her cue to sit tight and wait. 

Words will come. They always do. It’s just a matter of giving Hope the proper amount of time and space needed to wade through her inner tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions first. 

Another minute or two passes by and then--

“Okay,” Hope says, breaking the silence. She stops rubbing the teddy bear and sighs. “You’re right. I was crying.”

“About Landon?” 

“Landon?” Hope asks with a sudden quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yeah. I thought… MG mentioned that you… Wait. This isn’t about Landon?”

Hope out a bark of a laugh. “No… God no. It’s not about him… But I guess it could be. It depends on how you look at it.”

“Alright… So… If it’s not about Landon, then who…” Penelope trails off as a wave of clarity all but blindsides her. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence because she already knows the answer. 

In fact, they’ve had this same exact conversation before. Except for the first time when it happened, they had been sitting on the rooftop at 3 am in Paris and halfway through their second bottle of Jack Daniels. It had been on the night that Caroline had let it slip that Lizzie was dating someone new… A Romanian witch named Violet. 

At first, Penelope didn’t think twice about it. Caroline was always providing them with tidbits of information from the world that they once called home. And that specific comment had seemingly been no different than the rest. Just another brief update intermixed within their normal dinner conversations. 

After it was said, though, Penelope noticed that Hope’s entire demeanor had instantly changed. She seemed off with a look upon her face that was only reversed for those rare moments when her emotions were too strong to hide from the outside world. 

So Penelope did what she always did in those situations when she needed Hope to open up. She guilty tripped the Tribrid into joining her for a nightcap at a local pub and proceed to all but pour shot after shot down Hope’s throat. 

It took six shots in total. Six shots to crack through Hope’s stoic facade and finally get to the real root of the problem. Hope had indeed been thrown off by the news about Lizzie. 

But it wasn’t until four hours later when they had stumbled their way back home and ontop their apartment rooftop, did Hope reveal the full truth to Penelope. She had been head-over-heels in love with Lizzie Saltzman since she first time she had laid eyes on the blonde-haired siphoner.

The conversation that followed was one of the best-- and most honest-- conversations that the two of them ever had with each other. It had, in short, be a turning point for their relationship. The moment where they transitioned from friendship into something so much more. 

“I know you said you can’t reveal too much about the future, but can I ask you something?” 

“Sure. Anything,” Penelope responds without missing a beat.

“Do I…” Hope pauses for a moment and lets go of a breath of air. “Do I ever end up getting together with Lizzie?”

The question cuts deep. Ripping straight through Penelope’s soul. 

God, how the hell is she supposed to answer this? It’s such a simple yet complex question. 

Penelope blinks away a hint of tears from her eyes and then forces a reassuring smile upon her lips. “Let’s say that if you both had had the chance to, you and Liz would’ve been together in a heartbeat.”

“She goes by Liz?” Penelope nods and Hope matches her smile. “Liz… I like that.”

“Yeah. The name fits her… At least the future her.”

Hope slinks down a bit, resting her head against the top of Penelope’s and once again exhales. “I was crying because… I think I’m in love with Lizzie Saltzman.” 

“Oh, you are.” Penelope yawns and cuddles in closer, nuzzling up into Hope like she has done countless times before. “And she’s madly in love with you too, Mikaelson.”

“She is?”

“Without a doubt,” Penelope mumbles as her eyelids slowly succumb from the sheer emotional weight of the day. “Okay. My turn to ask you something.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Would you mind if napped here for a bit? It’s been a crazy long day and just that I can barely keep my eyes open… But if it’s too weird or strange, I can always--”

“Stop,” Hope cuts Penelope off and proceeds to reach down to the foot of the bed and grabs a blanket for the two of them. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks.”

“But if you start to snore, I’m kicking your ass out,” Hope replies with a yawn as well. 

“You’re the snorer, Furball. Not me,” Penelope whispers already half-sleep. 

Hope shakes her head with a look of amused annoyance and then wraps her arm around Penelope as she gets comfortable. “So freakin’ weird.”

[cheekyharold]

My Prince, Chapter Thirteen

Read previous chapters here!

I was watching her while she slept. I saw her chest rise and fall. The monitors at her side beeped with each pump of her heart. I kept thinking that, at any moment, those short, successive beeps could turn into one long, drawn out, monotonous tone and her chest could cease to ever rise again. I wondered how I would feel then, at that moment. I don’t know if I would be sad. Maybe more overwhelmed just by all the work that needed to get done. Figure something to do with her body, find some sort of resting place, organize and pack up the house, find someone dumb enough to buy it… Not to mention returning to work. Stupid prince with his stupid money and his stupid heart. Why couldn’t he just leave me to my misery? Heck, if he wanted to throw around some money, he may as well have used it for something more useful, like euthanasia for her. But no, he had to go and be fucking valiant.

I was drawn out of my staring contest with my mother’s rising and falling chest when someone knocked on the door. I thought for a moment of running to her bathroom to hide from whoever it was, but the fact that they knocked meant they knew I was inside. No one knocks for an unconscious patient.

“Come in.” A breath of relief exhaled from my lungs when I saw Callum. “Oh, hey.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Have you heard the commotion? Prince Harry was here.”

I scoffed and nodded. “Yep.”

Callum stepped into the room and shut the door. “Okay, I don’t want to…” He shook his head and moved closer again. “Don’t be freaked, but I Googled you last night.”

Christ.

“Why?”

“Well, I wanted to see your recent work. I wanted to see the things the royal family has posted that were yours and… well… something popped up about some fashion show a couple weeks back.”

Christ, Christ, Christ.

I sat back in my chair and sighed. “I’m never going to live that down,” I said, mostly for myself.

“They were saying he saved you from some sort of attack? Something about him being jealous?”

I met his eyes and saw something sad. Not jealousy, but like he’d just lost something her cherished. Me, I realized.

“Look, tabloids will be tabloids. It must have been a slow news day. It was nothing like that,” I said. He was still staring at me, with those damn sad puppy dog eyes. “The nephew of the designer just got a little handsy and the prince just helped get me out of there. Apparently, the guy had a reputation.”

Callum swallowed. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, Carolina.”

After taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Shoot.”

“Are you dating Prince Harry?”

“No,” I said, proud I could tell the truth.

“Have you dated him?”

“You said one question.”

“Carolina.”

I swallowed. I have never lied to Callum before, ever. I wasn’t about to start now. But I couldn’t say yes to his question, either. “It depends what you mean by date.”

“Oh, my God,” he muttered, going slack.

I could see him going to panic mode so, trying to de-escalate the situation, I stood from my chair and said, “No. No, Callum, it’s not what you­–”

“Everyone thinks he’s gay!”

You’ve got the wrong brother. Sort of.

“It was nothing. We didn’t even date, really–”

“Oh my God,” he said again. “Does he know? About… last night? After you and I… And you didn’t even say anything? Christ, Carolina. You just got the job, which means… he and you are still new. Was I – was I a rebound for you? Was he there to win you back?” Now his sadness and shock had begun to turn into anger. His face became gravelly and deep.

I shook my head, my head spinning trying to keep up with his questions. Thank God my mother was unconscious. The last thing I wanted was her input on this situation.

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that nothing will happen between him and me ever again. He doesn’t know anything about you and me, our past, or what happened between us. But, Callum, you can’t tell anyone about Harry and I, okay? Trust me, it’ll blow up into something it’s not, just like that tabloid.”

Callum clenched his jaw. He was silent for so long I was worried he would just storm out of the room without saying anything.

“Fine,” he grunted.

We each stood there, staring at the other, not knowing where to go from here. I still didn’t know if he would follow through on his word, but Callum was, if nothing, a trustworthy guy. I had to bank on that.

I slowly sat back down in the chair while Callum read over my mother’s charts. We continued being silent, even while he exited the room.

Two days later, I was shocked to walk into my mother’s hospice room and see her awake. Granted, I didn’t know she was awake until I pulled the chair up to her bed and heard her mumble something.

“Oh, Christ.” I almost dropped my tea onto the floor.

Her mouth was moving but the sound escaping was so faint I couldn’t hear it well.

“Mum?” I placed my tea on the table and leaned in. Sure enough, her eyes were barely squinted open. Her mouth continued to move. I don’t even know if she even registered that I was there.

I leaned in, finally able to distinguish her words. “Pain. Hurt. Water. Please.”

“Oh. God. Okay, um.” I fumbled for the remote attached to the bed to call in a member of staff. Within a minute, someone was entering the room.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Hi, uh, so… she’s awake. She’s saying something – I think she’s in pain.”

“Awake?” the nurse stared at me as if I was lying. “No, there’s no way–”

Then my mother let out a louder groan and the nurse’s face went into surprise. She flew into the room and began looking into my mother’s eyes with a flashlight, requesting her to squeeze her hands, and answer simple questions. My mother was quiet, but she must have been doing something right because the nurse injected something into her IV bag before running off to get the doctor.

“Okay, bye,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself. “Didn’t even tell me what’s going on, but okay.” I returned to the bedside where she was still mumbling the same words over and over. I still didn’t know if she was even aware of my presence or any of her surroundings.

Within moments, Callum entered the room with the nurse trailing behind him. I was prepared to say the same thing to him as I told the nurse but he didn’t ask. He didn’t even look in my direction. He still hadn’t spoken to me since our argument, despite me calling him and leaving messages. I even thought for a while that he changed his patients around so he wouldn’t have to see me anymore but today proved that wrong. He didn’t even act like I existed.

“Mrs. Pearson?” Callum called, checking the machines and her chart. I stood back to give him the space he needed. “Mrs. Pearson, can you hear me?”

“Pain,” I heard my mother mumble.

“I understand that and we’re doing all we can to keep you comfortable.” Callum turned back to the nurse. “Did you give her more morphine?”

The nurse nodded.

“What’s going on?” I asked. The tone in his voice wasn’t reassuring me. He sounded too worried.

“How much?” Callum asked the nurse, still ignoring me. I understood he needed time to cool off, but I needed him to talk to me as a doctor right now, not my ex.

“Just the same dosage – 200 mg.”

“How long ago?”

“About a minute ago.”

Callum sighed but didn’t move to do anything else for a while. My heart was racing in my chest. My arms were crossed, holding on to myself tightly.

“What is it? What’s going on?” I asked again.

By some miracle, Callum turned to me, though his face remained hard. Gone was the lifelong friend. Now only stood a professional.

“It seems your mother’s history of abuse is continually catching up with her.” Even his voice was hard. “Her body has developed an immunity to the dosage of morphine we’ve been giving her.”

I looked from him, to the nurse, to him again. Everyone seemed tense. “Okay? Can you up the dosage?”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple. She’s already at the max dosage we’re legally allowed to give her. Any more, and she could overdose.”

“But…” I swallowed, not even knowing where to go next. “You said she’s developed a tolerance. M–Maybe she can take the higher dosage. Maybe she can handle it.”

Callum shook his head once. “I can’t. It’s against the law.”

“But–But, she’s in pain! You’re saying you can’t do anything?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The man standing in front of me was a stranger. I no longer knew him.

“So what now?”

“We will keep giving her the maximum dosage, but I’m afraid she’ll still feel uncomfortable until she passes.”

I had never wished for my mother to die. Keeping a distance was fine, but never to die. Now, I did. If only to put her out of her misery.

I nodded, feeling completely deflated. I sat back in the chair slowly.

“I have other patients,” he said beside me. “Call the nurse if anything else changes.” Then he was gone.

I stayed until visiting hours were over. My mother still remained far away from the outside world, other than muttering one-word sentences about how in pain she was. Every word cut my core just a little deeper. I wished I could do something for her just to stop her rambling.

The following morning I signed in and a nurse stopped me in the hallway.

“Miss Pearson, a word?” It was the same nurse from last night.

“Sure.”

“There’s been some… progress over the night.”

Progress. Progress is good. But her face told me it wasn’t.

“Okay,” I prompted for her to go on.

“While she is more lucid, her strength is deteriorating fast. She doesn’t have much longer, maybe a day or two at most.” Her words were soft and kind but dug in like a razor.

“Oh,” I said, feeling like someone had just stabbed me in the guts. “Okay, thank you.”

“If you need to stay late from here on out, you’re more than able.”

Great. I unlocked the reward I didn’t even know I wanted.

“Thank you,” I said again before heading into the familiar room. Even the feel of it changed. It felt like death was already here.

“Yes? Is that you?” her creaky voice called out. I don’t know whom she was calling out for.

“Mum?” I walked in uneasily. “It’s Carolina.”

Even with her eyes open, she still looked gaunt and skeletal. All, except her abdomen which was still grossly distended.

“Car,” she said dazedly. “My sweet Car. Is she here yet? I called her.”

“It’s me, mum. I’m here.”

She didn’t look at me, only remained to stare at the ceiling. I don’t even know if she had any muscles left to move her neck. She would look like she was still lying unconscious, aside from her eyes being open. Somehow this frail woman was able to call me to bring me here, just a few days ago, only to let me watch her waste away.

“I was so terrible,” she continued. I don’t even know if she heard me. “Terrible, terrible.”

I couldn’t get my feet to move to the bedside where I normally sat. Instead, I stayed planted by the door. My legs were frozen. I didn’t know what to say. She was rambling. Maybe she hadn’t stopped rambling since she woke up. She very clearly wasn’t mentally in the room. She was lost, somewhere in her mind. Maybe the morphine still gave her that shred of dignity.

“I need to tell her I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

I was breaking. Crumbling. Floating away in wind. Stab, stab, stab in my gut. Say something, Carolina. Say something. Step closer.

“I’m right here,” I said, voice cracking. “I’m here, I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Please tell her, will you? Tell her I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t see anymore. I had to blink away the blurriness from the tears forming. Whether or not she knew I was in that room with her, her apology seemed genuine. Her voice was too fragile not to be.

“I will. I’ll tell her,” I said. I don’t know whom she thought I was, but I wasn’t going to deny her.

“Good. Good.” She exhaled and closed her eyes. I was terrified she was dead, but I saw her chest continuing to rise and fall. She was just asleep for now.

Feeling weak and lightheaded, I sank to the floor and curled my knees into my chest, resting my forehead on them. I had to sniffle and gasp for breath, feeling like something was just ripped from me – but something that was maliciously put there many, many years ago. Something that didn’t belong there in the first place.

Eventually, I gathered up enough energy to get up and move to her bedside.

She didn’t know how to cope with the disappearance of my father, and she grasped onto the first thing she saw, which was her denial to feel anything. Once one gets the taste of freedom like that, it’s hard to go back. She didn’t know how to be a mother, let alone a single mother. She tried, and for years I held onto the grudge that she hadn’t tried hard enough.

When she wakes up, I told myself, I’ll tell her I forgive her.

Too bad she never woke up.

She died in the early hours of the morning. I had a feeling it would happen, so I stayed in the hospital all night with her. I watched as her breathing became slower and less regular. I thanked whatever God there was that she remained unconscious, even though I never got my chance to say what I wanted. Soon enough, her breaths were few and far between. Her heart monitor was impossibly slow, but it never flatlined until the morning. I held her hand – something I had never done before, to my knowledge – until the end. If I couldn’t say that I forgave her, at least I could let her feel it. Even as I heard the flat line, I held her hand tightly. A nurse came to shut off the machine shortly after and stood there in silence with me for a while.

I don’t know what I felt when she finally died. I didn’t feel happy or broken, but I felt… numb. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel. Is this what she felt when my father left? Suddenly, I understood her more than I ever had in my life. I gave the doctor on call – not Callum –instructions as to which funeral home to send her too. Luckily, I had planned what to do a couple days prior. I saw her wheeled away from the room while I sat there, not even knowing what to do with myself. The room felt eerily large and empty once she was taken away and the doctor and nurses left.

The sun had yet to rise so the walk back home was lonely and cold. It was odd because, in that silence, I wasn’t thinking about all the regrets I had about my relationship with my mother. No, instead, Harry was surrounding my brain, and all of the regrets with him. I hate that it sounds so cliché, but death really does take your life and put it in perspective for you. Ever since our first introduction, even though he was a right arse, I’ve felt like there was an invisible tug towards him. Something in me needed him. I only felt completely right when I was with him. Even with Callum growing up, I always thought there was something else out there in the big, wide world. But Callum would always be a guy who would stay in Stratford-upon-Avon. That town had suffocated me for too long, and I only felt a small breath of air when I moved out. Harry was a lungful.

When I got back to the house, I knew I had to do a million things but instead, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, until I found Harry’s name. He had given it to me after our long night in Wilton’s before he took me back to his place.

I stared at the number for what seemed like eons before eventually pressing the call button. Unsurprisingly, it went to voicemail. It was an automated machine, not his voice, that greeted me but when the beep came to leave my message, I took a deep breath.

“Hey Harry,” I began. “It’s Carolina. You probably already know that. Um, I was just calling you to…” To what? Why was I calling him? I needed him, and I didn’t know why or how to put it into words. “She died this morning.” Something caught in my throat, making the words almost impossible to say. “And, um, well…” I felt my esophagus closing up and my eyes stung with tears for the first time since she died. “I don’t–I don’t really know what to do. I don’t know why I’m calling you, but… I just felt like I needed someone. No, not someone. You. I know you’re probably asleep. I don’t even know if you’re in the country right now. I just wanted someone to talk to, and you’re the only person who came to mind. Um,” I sniffled, clearing my throat and trying to sound less like a mess, “okay – don’t feel pressured to call me back or anything. I’m okay. Um, tell Alfred and Jude I say hello and that I should be back into work soon. Okay, bye.”

I hung up and wished I could recall the voicemail right away. I sounded pathetic but there was nothing I could do now. I turned on the lights in the house, trudged up the stairs, and fell down onto my bed. Fully clothed and with tears streaming down my cheeks, I curled into a ball for the rest of the morning.