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MALLORY
Exhaustion has taken over every molecule in my body. I’m so tired that even Mr. Flanagan, the disgusting pervert in bed six—of whom offered me a free mustache ride—sounds appealing right about now. To get a few minutes of shut-eye, I would consider curling up next to him.
The fumes I was running on eight hours ago have been used up and then some, after working five straight days of doubles a break is greatly needed. I cannot wait to get home, crawl into my cozy little bed, and not emerge until I have to return to this place in three days.
“Pick up your feet, Mal, or you’ll never make it out the door,” Dr. Pratt calls to my back. I don’t have the strength to respond. He was already here when I arrived twelve hours ago. How is he still standing?
The late afternoon air hits me like a ton of bricks the moment I step outside the hospital’s automated doors. I use the brief flash of energy to pull up my Uber app and summon a ride. There is no way I can walk to my apartment tonight.
I spend most of my income on that apartment just to be close enough to walk to this hospital. It’s not like I do anything but work, so I don’t need money for much else. However, after living here for the last two years, I now know that North Dallas is not as nice as the price tag makes it look.
I blink a few times, trying to focus on my phone screen. The little dot says my driver is two minutes away. Leaning against an awning post, I close my eyes and let all the surrounding noise slowly fade. The distant sirens growing closer, the roar of a motorcycle picking up speed, a baby crying somewhere nearby. One by one, they drift away until I am in my happy place, the place where nothing exists but silence.
A car horn pulls me out of my trance, and I’m so startled by the intrusion, I almost fall over.
“You Mallory?” the driver of a green SUV asks through an open passenger window.
Before answering, I pull up the app and double-check my ride. Yep, green SUV. Check. The driver’s name is Winston. “Maybe. What’s your name?”
“Winston,” he answers. He doesn’t really look like a Winston. Then again, I have never met one.
“Well, that happens to be my Uber driver’s name.”
“That’s me!” he calls out, annoyingly, and points to the Uber sticker on his windshield. I hope he’s not a talker. No commentary is needed from him during this ride.
I climb into the back seat. The thing I love most about this form of transportation is that I don’t have to say a word. He knows where I am going; he has already been paid. There is nothing else to exchange here.
Just four to five minutes until I reach my destination. A distance that usually takes me twenty minutes to walk. I dread having to climb the stairs to my two-bedroom solitude. If I offered Winston here a large enough tip, would he carry me up?
I used to have a roommate, but she took off without a word about six months ago, and I haven’t heard from her since. Amy left me with all the bills. Serves me right for seeking a roommate through a Craig’s list ad. She better stay gone. She never offered to help me with anything while she lived here, anyway.
“Here you are. Have a good night,” Winston announces.
Looking up, I see the entrance to my apartment complex. The sky has turned a grayish purple as the sun fades away. I hardly ever get to see the sun anymore. Leave when it’s dark, come back when it’s dark. Story of my life.
Something between a grunt and a whine escapes my lips as I try to thank Winston for his services. The side gate is opened. It’s supposed to stay locked, only accessible with residence key fobs, but it never is. It kind of discredits the security they promised me when I signed the lease.
One step at a time, with both hands gripping the rails, I slowly make the climb. I’m in pretty good shape for someone who has never set foot in a gym. Of course, I am only twenty-seven and stay on my feet all day.
I try to eat right. Well, that’s a lie. I think about eating healthier but never put any effort into making that happen. With my hectic work schedule, I either forget to eat or only have time for something quick. My stomach growls at the thought of food; that cup of noodles I had about six hours ago is long gone.
There is one person in my life that I would call a friend. Berkley is what some people would label a gym-rat. By some people, I mean me. I think the chick is a gym-rat. She hounds me constantly to work out with her. Honestly, I don’t know where she gets her energy from after working at the hospital all day. Perhaps she is an alien. Yep, that answers my questions about her. Berkley must be an alien. I’ll ask her about this theory when I see her again. Chances are I will forget. This sleep-deprived mind is getting the better of me.
If Berkley were here, she would help me get upstairs. She would even make me something to eat. Something fresh and nutritious.
My apartment is dark when I enter, just the way I like it. Keys hit the tile floor as soon as the front door shuts, followed by my bag. One shoe gets kicked off, then another. I leave a trail of clothes behind me as I head to my bedroom. My OCD mind does not care about the mess right now. With my phone set on its nightstand charger, I let my naked body fall onto the neatly made bed and instantly pass out.
***
Incessant ringing pulls me out of a dreamless sleep. I hardly ever dream about anything anymore. Why is that? Is my brain just as fried as my body every night? The ringing sounds again, but I cannot bring myself to open my eyes. I am cold, so cold. Moving around, trying to find the blanket, then I realize it is under me. More ringing...
“No!” I scream into one of my decorative throw pillows, “I am not on call until Saturday. I will not answer.” The only person who dares to call me anymore, besides work, is my mother. Everyone else keeps to texts. God, if my mother is calling me in the middle of the night, then I should probably answer it—could be serious. How long has it been since I talked to her? A month? No, that was dad.
By the time I sit up and reach for my phone, the ringing has stopped. The screen reads 1:42 am. Before I can click on any missed calls and see who it was, another call comes in from an unknown number.
“Hello?” I ask in an overly scratchy voice. I need water.
Music and an abundance of loud noises flood my ears from the other end of the line. “Hello? Mallory, are you there? Is that you?” a female voice asks.
“Who is this?” I yell back, thinking it is the only possible way she can hear me.
The woman talks to someone else. I can tell the phone is being held away from her mouth. “Mallory, it’s me.” She is back on the line, and I can hear her clear as day. It’s like all the other noise is canceled out when she speaks her next words. “It’s me, Madeline. Your sister!”
What the actual fuck? Madeline. No way! I pull the phone away, stare at it, blink a few times, stand up, enter the bathroom, and splash cold water onto my face. I need to be more awake for this; I’m still asleep. Did I start dreaming again? This must be a dream. A fever dream maybe? Am I coming down with something?
“Mallory, are you still there?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Where the hell are you calling me from, and how did you get my number?”
She laughs—that light, feminine, manipulative laugh I have not heard in many years but will never forget—a laugh that makes her seem innocent to most, but I know better. I know her more than anyone else ever will. We may have not spent time together recently, but our twin instinct is still fully intact. “I’m at a bar in Addison. You still live in Dallas? The parentals said you settled here a few years ago.”
Great, so she got my number from mom. I make a mental note to tell my mother how I feel about this slight the next time I talk to her. “I am on the north side. What are you doing here? Where have you been?” Why are you calling me? I want to ask.
“Listen, we can play catch up later. Right now, I need a place to stay. This joint is closing, and I gotta get. They let me use the phone here because I don’t have one; I hate those things. They cause cancer, ya know. Give me your address.”
I don’t particularly appreciate how she didn’t ask for my address or if she could stay with me, more like demanded it. Typical Mad.
“Huh? It’s two in the morning. You can’t come over now.” Or ever! “I am sleeping.” I have not seen her in...what? Almost ten years. Has it really been over ten years? We never got along much as kids. Madeline, or as most people call her ‘Mad’, was always considered the evil twin. Well, at least she was to me. Not sure if my parents thought of her that way, but she was a bitch to me and almost everyone else she encountered.
Shortly after our seventeenth birthday, we had a massive fight, and she ran away. She didn’t just fight with me; it was with everyone in the house: mom, dad, and our little brother, Mason. I guess she has reached out to my parents over the years, but this is the first time I’ve heard from her since that glorious, yet equally devastating day. I only call it glorious because I never had to see her again after it. Regardless of how I felt, I went after her; I was the only one who even tried. I don’t talk to my mother often, but I would think she might mention something like...oh, I don’t know, talking to the kid that abandoned us all.
I harbored a deep hatred and anger toward Mad for so long. She left me all alone and right before senior year. I thought she was doing better. She hadn’t gotten into trouble in a while, and wasn’t seeing any of the over-age lowlifes she always hung out with. I pictured us going off to school together and having a genuine sibling relationship. Then she up and left me without so much as a word.
It all worked out in the long run. My life was better without her around, sucking all the joy out of everything. She was a disrespectful, irresponsible little brat who didn’t care about anyone but herself. After the initial pain faded away, I was glad to be rid of her. And now she’s back.
This cannot be my life!