Can't Let You Go

Chapter 5

That still wasn't the end of it though. She kept drunk dialing me, nearly every night, and for some reason I kept answering even though I did look at the caller ID. The conversation was always the same.

"Hello," I'd answer.

"May I please speak to Athena?" she'd ask.

"She's not here. Please stop calling."

"I'm sorry. Good night." She was too drunk to realize what she was doing. I wondered if she'd even remember the calls later, but she was always polite.

One night instead of asking her to stop calling I inquired, "Are you alright?"

"No, I am very much not alright. I'm sorry, I'll try to not call anymore." She was as drunk as usual, but something about her voice was off.

That was last Sunday. I didn't hear anything more from her until the police called my number. She never cried any of those times. She didn't cry at the station nor look like she had earlier in the night. Now my shirt was wet with her tears and probably other grossness. As her soft snores drift through the small apartment, I pick up the letter she'd stopped me from reading before. There's no reason to not believe her, but after hearing her story and reading the letter I wish it had all been made up, for her sake.

Snooping around more doesn't reveal any other letters, credit card bills, or bank statements. She doesn't have much, actually. In a little pocket inside her purse is her state ID. She did one thing right in keeping it separate from her wallet. I sit on the floor and lean against the bed while I look up the Alaris address listed on her ID. There's no unit number so it must be a single family house. I can see from the map that she lives in a posh neighborhood. Street view shows me a townhouse with a half-sunk terrace level and three floors above it. I look up the property records, but it's held in a trust. Cross referencing the trust name, I find that it owns the next door address and a few other places dotted around the city. Her family is obviously wealthy, so why is she living in this crappy, tiny place?

Suddenly, bright light burns my eyes. I squint them and slowly open. It's morning. I fell asleep. I haven't fallen asleep without sleeping pills in years. My ass hurts from sitting on the hard floor all night, but other than that I don't feel too bad. As the grogginess clears, I realize that what woke me up was not the sun, but the sound of Honey's voice. She's talking in the bathroom. The door is a folding partition so it does little to block the noise.

"Zayan, please go where it's quieter. I'm trying to not talk loudly -- Can you hear me now?"

Her voice was hushed, but I could clearly hear her, whether or not this Zayan person could.

"Did you figure out a way to help me? -- Of course she said 'no'. Why of all people in the city does your mom have to be friends with Bethany? Well, here's some breaking news. A plane ticket home wouldn't even help me at this point because I got arrested last night. -- Yeah, no shit. -- Drugs. Pot. -- Of course it wasn't mine. I don't touch anything, not after Quill."

There's a distinct hitch in her voice.

"Anyway, you know me better than that. I'll tell you the details later, but I was definitely set up. -- No, I'm not in jail now. -- The guy who lives at Mom's address helped me out, but they have my passport and I don't know when I'll be able to leave. Here's my immediate problem that I need cash for - when I came home there was an eviction notice that kicks me out on Tuesday. Even though the rent should have been paid for the month already. Plus the deposit should cover me. -- Yeah, well who do you think set me up with this place? My dad said he'd take care of getting me settled, but do you think he personally did anything? Bethany's hands are all over this."

That's the second time she's made a negative reference to Bethany.

"I have no idea, but it has to be her, right? Anyway, I've only got about three hundred left and that -- No I didn't spend it. I took it out of the ATM and some of it was on me last night and got stolen along with the useless credit cards. Listen, I found a hostel and I'll sell everything I can sell. I think I can last for ten days to two weeks if I'm careful. -- No, absolutely not. You can't sell her. -- Yeah, I know, but she's the embodiment of our friendship up to that point. Besides I don't need that much money. -- Okay, fine. As a last resort. -- Listen, I looked it up, the police have ten days to complete their investigation. If they decide not to charge me I'll get my passport back and can go home."

I'm glad she's looking into it herself now.

"You keep working on your mom. Oh! Try your dad even though he doesn't control the money. If you can get him to give you some pocket money each day, it will add up and help me stay here. -- If they charge me? I don't know. Months maybe, I'm not too clear on the trial process. -- I don't know."

The bathroom partition does so little to muffle noise that I can even hear her suck in a shaky breath and let it back out.

"Yeah, I'm trying, what else can I do? Ask your dad for some money for a pretzel or something, he'll probably hand you a twenty. Then put the eighty bucks you already have in an envelope and use that twenty to pay for postage to get it to me within a week. Find out the normal length of time it takes to mail stuff to here, too. I'll text you the address after I've checked with the hostel and can confirm it."

She's quiet for a moment, listening to her friend, but I hear her breathing change and can tell she's crying again, though she denies it when her friend apparently asks. 

"I'm not crying. I never cry. If I cry, they win." Her voice sounds so firm when she says this that I almost believe her myself even after witnessing all the crying she did last night. "Thank you for not abandoning me. -- Yeah, I'll call you after I find out more."

The sink tap is turned on, but it doesn't cover the sound of the deep, ragged breaths she takes to regain her composure before coming out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she says to me as I stand in front of her open wardrobe and open suitcase.

"Packing." I continue to throw stuff in the large hardside suitcase.

"That's not necessary and I'm not taking this giant thing with me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's too big to deal with on the bus and it probably won't really work where I'm going."

"It will be fine," I assure her.

"No, it won't. I'm going to a hostel. In the pictures, there's very little storage space."

"You're not going to a hostel." I shake my head at her.

"Of course I am, it's all I can afford. Thank you for your assistance thus far. If I'm ever reinstated to my family I will mail you some sort of compensation for your time and trouble." She grabs some of the fancier items I've packed and rehangs them.

"We'll talk about compensation later. What are you doing?" I put one of the dresses back in the suitcase.

"I've got to sell some of this stuff, I don't want it getting wrinkled. What are you doing?" Color is starting to come back into her face.

"Packing you up and taking you home." I'm not going to abandon her. For some reason.

"With you? Ha! I don't think so!"

"Why not? You're the one who called me for help." I feel like I'm meant to be doing this.

"I called you for help to translate. Translate. That's it. I could think of dozens of reasons why I shouldn't go stay at your place, but let's start with one basic issue. I don't even know your name."