Page 44 of Melancholia

When my phone rings, I pick it up without looking at the number. I’ve been hovering over my phone all morning, and now that it’s finally ringing, I know who it has to be.

The freaking pharmacy. Who, hopefully, maybe, has decided to grace me with a refill of my Ativan.

“Hello?” I sigh while trying to keep my voice polite. It isn’t the pharmacist’s fault this is becoming such a difficult process.

…Probably.

But if I don’t remind myself of that, my words will come out in a very unkind fashion.

“You certainly don’t sound eager for the day, my little mortician.” The voice on the other end of the line is decidedly not who I’m expecting.

“And you don’t sound like my pharmacist,” I quip in reply.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, then. But perhaps I can make it up to you⁠—”

“Please, please don’t say⁠—”

“By telling you just how easy today’s game is.”

That is definitely not making me feel better. At all. I roll my eyes up to the ceiling of my small apartment, eyes fixed on the fan that’s spinning lazily above my bed to constantly pelt me with cold air. “I don’t want to play.”

“That’s a shame. Do you want to explore that thought, or shall we get started?”

“I think I’d like to explore that thought, actually.”

I swear I hear him huff. Or maybe sigh. I suppose it could be the world’s softest chuckle, but I’d rather imagine him frazzled by my lack of compliance.

“All right, then. Which part of what I said was unclear, Nell? The part where I said I would kill those around you? Or the part where I told you I was very serious about that?” His voice is definitely unamused now, so I’m assuming it was a sigh of exasperation.

“And suddenly, I no longer need to explore this train of thought.” I take a breath, and my fingers wander up to stroke over the fox jawbone necklace I’ve been wearing since he gave it to me. The chain is fine enough that it doesn’t catch in my hair, but strong enough that, so far, I haven’t had to worry about it breaking.

“Do you like it?”

My fingers jerk away from the black-coated bone like I’ve been burned. “W-what?”

“Your belated birthday present. It just felt very…you. Was I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. But that’s the terrifying part. He knows me so well after such a small amount of time, when most people who’ve known me ten times as long would never expect that to be an acceptable gift for me.

“It-it’s unique. It’s pretty,” I allow at last. Part of me wants to thank him. Not just the part that was raised to have good manners, but a deeper part of me that loves the weight of the jawbone around my throat.

But that part needs to go find a ditch to die in, if Amir isn’t going to do that courtesy for me.

“It is pretty,” Amir agrees. “Now pay attention. I won’t repeat myself. Today’s first game is very, very simple, my little mortician.” I’m not sure I like the way he says ‘first’ game. It doesn’t seem fair that there can be more than one.

“Okay?”

“It’s a memory test. All you have to do is answer one question correctly, and you can skip today’s second game.”

Well, that’s actually pretty promising. I open my eyes, once more staring at the ceiling. “Okay? Okay. Umm. Hit me.” My heart flutters like a bird in my ribs, its broken wings thudding against the bones and rattling them from the inside.

Not for the first time, I pity my poor, rabbit heart. Always so quick to flutter and pound. Always wanting an escape from the crap I’ve been dealing with ever since Elaina got sick. I press my hand over my chest, directly over the place where I can feel it beating hardest.

Sorry I’m not kinder to you, I want to tell her. But I blink when I realize Amir is speaking, and quickly tune my thoughts back into his words.

“What was the name of the wine I got at the restaurant the other night?”

I don’t reply. I don’t move at all, but my heart speeds up just a little under my pressing fingers as I search my mind for the answer.