Black Romance 53 Just Wha

Checking to make sure he was still fast asleep, I slowly and delicately slipped out of the bed. With tender feet, I walked on the tips of my toes around the giant bed. I was stunned as I kept the phone in my sight, unsure if it was really true.

I hadn't been that close to a phone in years, at least not one that I could possibly use. Virgo and Vin had their cell phones, but that was it. And there wasn't a chance in h.e.l.l I'd ever be able to get my hands on either of those.

Stopping a few feet away from the end table, my hands tingled at my sides, eager to s.n.a.t.c.h it up and make a call.

Who will I call?

The police?

The operator?

The lobby downstairs?

It wasn't like I had family to call. . .

My eyes fluttered to Salt as my thighs. .h.i.t the edge of the table. He was still snoring, his mouth partially open. With shaky fingers I reached for the phone, pulling the receiver off. Lifting it to my ear, the sound of the dial tone was like a symphony in my head.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I let my brain remember the noise, allowing it to open old memories from my childhood. Calling my grandparents to wish them happy holidays, calling my friends from school to make plans.

My mind flooded with snapshots of my mother laughing as she talked to my grandmother and cooked dinner, the phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. Her smile as she danced around the kitchen, pulling food from the fridge and pans from the cupboard as she chatted away without a care in the world.

Tears filled my eyes as I opened them back up and muscle memory worked the keys as I made my call.

Each b.u.t.ton made its signature beep as I pressed them down with a trembling finger. Holding my breath, I pushed the phone firmly against my ear, praying that my memory was right and the number would work.

'Mi dispiace, il numero che stai cercando di raggiungere. . .' An Italian automatic message came through, telling me that number was out of service.

Fumbling with my lip, I listened to the operator repeat the phrase, not wanting it to be true. Pushing the phone harder against my ear, I felt like if I just waited it out, if I didn't give up, that if I listened a little bit longer, maybe it would miraculously connect.

Without warning, the phone was yanked from my hand. Salt growled, tearing the phone from the wall and throwing it across the room. Crashing against the wall, it shattered into pieces.

My heart sank in my chest as I looked up at Salt, his eyes cold and angry. Stalking forward, he grabbed me by the arms and shoved me against the wall.

The edges of his fingers dug into my arms, his hands firmly holding me in place. Glaring at me, his nostrils flared wide as his jaw clenched.

"What the f.u.c.k did you just do? Who the h.e.l.l did you just call?" His eyes darted between mine, furious and irate.

"No one," I said, my voice stern and full of truth.

"Bulls.h.i.t." Taking in deep breaths of air, he spoke through gritted teeth. "Who the f.u.c.k did you call? Was it the cops?"

Shaking my head, I thinned my lips. "No, I. . ." Pausing, I closed my eyes slightly, feeling stupid for having even tried the number to begin with. "I called home."

His hands tightened, jaw crooking. "Home? You expect me to believe that?"

Forcing my voice to steady, I could feel the tears sitting right there, ready to spill. But I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to allow those tears to consume me. "You can believe whatever the h.e.l.l you want to." Yanking my arms hard, I was able to pull them free. Standing taller, I stepped into his chest. "But don't worry, the number doesn't work anymore anyway, because she's dead."

Salt's face went slack as his eyes softened. "What?"

"My mother, my father, my family, they're all gone." Leaning back, I let my body rest against the wall. "They're gone. I just—" Stopping myself from saying what I was about to, I waved my hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter, forget it."

"Finish what you were going to say. You just what?"