She floored her bags then sat on the bed. Again, her phone buzzed, and only now she realized she’d been buzzed so much she’d lost feeling in that part of her leg. She grabbed the phone from her pocket.
Where are you?
Mark again. No kisses. No well-wishes. Or was it just his writing style? They said that around seventy percent of all text-based communication was misinterpreted. Maybe she was in the majority without realizing it.
She pulled up her contacts and hit Mark’s name. She wasn’t going to spend her night going back and forth with him like this. She had thinking to do.
It dialed. One ring. Mark picked up before the second ring.
“Finally.”
“Hello to you too,” she said.
“Never mind hello. I texted you about three hours ago.”
He didn’t sound like the same person. There was a venomous tone to his voice. Was he drunk or something?
“Mr. Balzano, I’m working a murder investigation in case you forgot. I’ve been working my socks off. Delaware’s a hectic place.”
“You couldn’t find five seconds to reply to me?”
The volume of his voice rose. It crackled down the line. She could hardly believe he was talking to her like this.
“Mark, it’s been non-stop. I’ve been on the road, interviewing people, hunting down a suspect. Most of the time I didn’t even have my phone with me. What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me. I just want to know you’re safe. Am I the asshole for wanting my girlfriend to be safe?”
They hadn’t used the girlfriend or boyfriend word yet. It was a conversation they were yet to have, and it had been so long since Ella had a boyfriend that she couldn’t remember how those conversations went. Or were they just brushed past these days? Modern relationships had so many designations that she wasn’t even sure what they were classified as. Life partner, exclusive partner, friend with benefits? Definitely not the last one, she thought. Right now, it didn’t seem like being with Mark had many benefits.
“Not at all. I love that you care about me. But you need to accept that I have responsibilities too. I can’t just drop everything to text my…” she hesitated at the word. Somehow, it didn’t seem right calling him it. It felt too permanent, too committed. But she did it anyway, prioritizing his feelings over her concern. “Boyfriend,” she finished.
“Right. I get it. Your first boyfriend in forever and you can’t make time for me? I’ve been worried sick. What if you were dead?”
Ella moved the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath. She felt like she was trying to sneak past a sleeping baby on a floor made of explosives. “Dead? You have that little faith in me?”
“You could be. How am I supposed to know if you don’t text me?”
“So what, I’m supposed to text you every minute to tell you I’m alive? That’s ridiculous and you know it.”
“Right, now I’m ridiculous. If this is how you treat your boyfriends, no wonder you’ve been single for so long.”
Mark had launched a poison dart and was waiting for it to take effect. Ella got up and opened the window. Suddenly the room felt suffocating. “I was single because I wanted to be, actually. Sometimes relationships don’t seem worth the hassle.”
“Is that a dig?” Mark asked. “What are you trying to say?”
Ella stuck her head out the window and breathed in fresh air. It cleared her head enough to realize that this conversation was only going one way.
“I’m just trying to say that jealousy will get us nowhere. Look, I’m with you, okay? Not anyone else. Not Byford, not Roy in accounting, not John Cena. I chose you, so cool it with the insecurity.” Maybe a joke would calm him down. It didn’t seem to do the trick.
“This is funny to you, huh?”
“No, it isn’t, but our jobs are going to keep us apart occasionally. You’ll be back out in the field soon too. What happens then? Are we gonna stay on the phone constantly?”
“We’ll message. Like I’ve been trying to today.”
Ella sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the still life below. Not a soul moved. Orange streetlamps lined the street like sentries.
“Yeah, we will, when we have time. Besides, too much talking and you’ll get sick of me.” Ella slammed the window shut because it was getting a little cold in the room.
Mark stopped talking for a second. She wondered if the line had cut out by accident. Would that even be a bad thing?
“Send me a picture,” he demanded, his booming voice startling her.
Ella panicked a little. Was this that sexting thing that Jenna always talked about? If so, she wasn’t in the mood. Plus, it sounded like something more awkward than enjoyable. “A picture? Of what?”
Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
“Of you. In your room.”
“Umm, okay. Can I ask why?”
“Because I just heard a noise.”
Ella looked around. She could see every square inch of the room and hadn’t heard a noise. “Huh? You think someone’s trying to break in my room?”
“No, and stop making jokes. I think someone else is in your room with you. Something banged. Who else is there?”
Ella replayed the last few seconds in her mind. Then she remembered. “That was the window, doofus. I shut it.”
“Send me a picture and make it quick. And send me the confirmation of your motel booking. I want to know you and this new partner are in separate rooms.”
This must be some kind of joke, Ella thought. There was no way in hell Mark was being serious.
“Mark, what the hell…” she said before she realized she was talking to a dead phone line. No, he was being deadly serious by the sound of it. Of all the things to mess with her head tonight, she never expected it to be her own boyfriend.
Now that she was off the phone, she quickly realized how absurd this all was. She felt more alone than when she was single and felt like she’d transitioned into a human punching bag. He couldn’t treat her like a child, nor like an obedient slave.
There’d be no pictures. No videos. No constant check-ins. Mark would have to live in the same reality as her, not some fantasy world where she played the part of his servant.
When she got back to D.C., she needed to have a difficult conversation.
***
In her dream, she was trapped in a cold prison cell. Not a modern one like she’d seen in Maine Correctional, but an old, rusty cage with iron bars and giant padlocks and gray walls. In the cell opposite her, another woman sat cradling herself, rocking back and forth. They were both wearing baggy white overalls with numbers on the front. Ella was 13, her new friend was 12.
Ella pushed her face against the bars. “What’s wrong?” she asked the inmate. Upon closer inspection, she realized the woman was crying.
“It’s my day.”
“Your day?”
“May 2nd at 7am. It’s the day they take me.”
“Who? Who takes you?”
The woman pushed her scraggly brown hair back and showed her face. Ella didn’t recognize her. “Them. The sands of time are running low.”