Chapter 23 #2
I feel like a guilty asshole, even though I know what happened between us was real and inevitable and consensual. We both wanted it. We both craved it.
But I know her heart—I know that her loyalty to her sister will always be a jagged wedge between us. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe it was too soon. I swipe at her name on my screen and type out a message I’m sure I’ll regret instantly.
Me: I don’t want to fight with you. I understand why you’re scared and I totally fuckin get it. But whatever is between us isn’t gonna go away. Last night was everything, and I know you felt it too. We can go slower. We can start over. Just don’t shut me out…we’re in this together :)
I add the smiley face because Mandy always said it was the key to texting in order to get your proper feelings across. One time she had an entire conversation with me using only emojis, and it was strange and confusing.
The message shows ‘read’ almost immediately, so I hold my breath and wait. I wait for those little bouncing dots to appear, telling me she’s thinking, telling me she’s responding… but they never come.
I check my phone periodically in between my Kung Pao Chicken and Sons of Anarchy marathon, but there’s still no response.
Dammit .
I glance at the time on my phone, noting it’s already after ten P.M. I have to be up for work in six hours.
Groaning with frustration, I toss the phone beside me on the couch and run both hands through my hair, letting out a weary sigh of defeat.
I stand up, dragging my blanket to the bedroom with me, when I hear my phone ring from the couch.
I pause. Then I drop the blanket and jog towards my cell phone, my heart thundering with anticipation and relief when I see Cora’s name light up the face.
I swipe to accept. “Hello?”
It’s silent for a beat, and then her groggy, slurred voice reaches my ear. “You’re… incorrigible.”
“I suppose I am.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, a tingle of concern poking at me. “You okay, Corabelle?”
“No… no, I’m not okay. But I think you’re pretty okay. Even though you’re incorrigible.”
Her voice is raspy. Sluggish. She sounds drunk. “Have you been drinking?”
“I’ve been thinking .”
“Okay…”
Cora sighs, and I hear clatter in the background like she knocked something over. “I think we could have been the best thing to ever happen to me.”
I zone in on her use of could have been . “We still can, Cora. This doesn’t have to be over.”
“It does have to be over, Dean, because you’re a lion and I’m a mouse.”
“What?”
A stretch of silence passes, and I wonder if she spaced out or fell asleep, but then she replies softly, “You’re a lion, fearless and strong, and I am just a mouse.
” Cora pauses again, then continues, “I’m small and weak, afraid of everything lurking in the dark.
The things I want are disguised in deadly traps, and yet, I’m still tempted. ”
“Cora…” I start pacing around my living room, my stomach unsettled.
She sighs, long and lingering, her heavy breaths like an ominous soundtrack to her words. “The trouble with mice is you always kill them.”
I recognize that quote from the book, Of Mice and Men . It sends a chill down my spine. “That’s not true. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”
Cora laughs a little, and it’s just a fleeting, foreboding chuckle. “Goodbye, Dean.”
“Wait. I’m worried about you, Corabelle. Talk to me.”
“I do think we could have been great,” she finishes. “If you weren’t a lion, and I was not a mouse.”
The call disconnects, and I’m left staring at my phone, my insides twisting into knots and my heart telling me that she is not okay.
Something’s off. Something’s wrong .
I realize I might come off like a stalker driving to her house in the middle of the night to console a woman who clearly wants her space. But I’m willing to take that risk because my instincts are screaming at me to go .
I’m knocking on her front door ten minutes later, after speeding my way over here, blowing two stop signs.
The happy, turquoise door is a deceiving camouflage to the dejected woman residing on the other side of it.
“Cora!” I call out. My knuckle taps turn into pounding fists when she doesn’t open the door. “Cora, open up. I’m worried about you.”
All I can hear on the other side is animal claws pacing the entryway, mingling with squeaky whines. I try the doorknob and heave in a breath of relief when it opens. But then I realize Cora never leaves her doors unlocked, and my relief fades back into concern.
Jude and Penny Lane greet me at the door for the first time, pacing around in circles.
As I step through the threshold, both dogs go running down the hallway towards Cora’s bedroom, like they are beckoning me to follow.
“Cora?” I try to make my presence known, so I don’t startle her.
“Cora, it’s me. I’m just here to check on you. ”
Nothing.
Fuck . I make my way through the living area, down the hall, and stop short of Cora’s room.
Her light is on, but she’s clearly not awake.
She’s lying on her back on top of the covers, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, while the other is sprawled across the mattress, still clutching her cell phone.
Both dogs are pawing at the side of the bed and whimpering.
“Cora.”
I step inside the room, my feet cautious at first. Unsure.
“Corabelle.”
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t flinch.
Is she even fucking breathing?
“No, no, no, no, no….” I feel like the air leaves my own lungs the moment the thought crosses my mind, and I dash over to her bedside, shaking her.
“Cora. Cora!” She doesn’t respond. “Holy fuck…. Jesus…” My eyes catch sight of an empty bottle of sleeping pills tipped over on her nightstand and I fucking lose it.
I climb on top of her, straddling her waist with my knees, and I press my ear to her chest as I continue to shake her.
This isn’t real.
This is a prank—a practical joke, just like that time I gave her the cornstarch donut and she pretended to faint. She’s about to wake up and say, “Gotcha”. Then she’ll laugh and laugh, and I’ll be so pissed off at her, but so, so relieved that she’s okay.
But that doesn’t happen.
She is still, lifeless, and I flash back to Blizzard lying on that dog bed in the middle of the hospital room looking eerily similar.
“No… God, no, Cora. Come back to me. Fucking please don’t do this…”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it as my hands start violently trembling. I punch in the numbers 9-1-1 and ramble off the situation to the dispatch operator, sounding like a crazed, desperate man. And I am.
I am .
I’m instructed to perform CPR. I carry her from the bed and lay her down on the floor, pressing against her chest like I’ve seen in the movies. Then I tip her head back, pinch her nose, and breathe my life into her mouth.
“Is she breathing?” the operator asks over the speaker.
I reach for her wrist and try to find a pulse. I place my ear to her heart again.
God, I can’t tell.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know….”
“Okay. Just stay on the line and help will be there soon. Continue the chest compressions, fast and hard…”
The voice fades out as I continue to press against her chest, occasionally stopping to search for a sign of life.
“Don’t you leave me, Corabelle. I fucking love you.
Don’t you dare leave me.” I gather her petite frame in my arms, bringing her up to my chest, sobbing into her hair.
I cling to her, trying to zap her with my lifeforce, trying to bring her back to me with nothing but my tears and words and love.
“Come back,” I whisper through my grief, then lay her back down to continue the chest compressions.
The sirens sound in the distance as I break down on top of her, weeping and shaking.
What have I done?
What the hell have I done?