Lasting Dreams.

The sound knocking on the front door wakes me up; from my place on the second level, with my bed sheets pulled up over top of my face and the bedroom door locked shut, I can still hear that distinct rapping sounding downstairs. At first, I don’t feel like getting up and taking care of whoever has found their way to my doorstop, simply because my beard is growing out too far and I haven’t showered in days.

And then I realize that no one has visited in weeks - or, at least, what feels like weeks.

That’s really what got me up, I think. My feet hit the floor like two heavy weights and I blink my eyes open. The room is quiet and I feel a chill raking up my spine. The air conditioning is on and as I walk past it on my way out the bedroom, I shudder.

Downstairs, I see a silhouette from the window beside the door. I make my way down the steps carefully and with one hand on the banister. I can’t even think straight I’m so groggy and overslept. The yellow light is muted by the curtains pulled over the windows and I don’t need to squint to see.

There’s that knock again. It’s someone’s dainty wrist against the wood door, and it resounds throughout the entire first level. An echo makes its way all the way back to where I stand and I feel my heart pounding in my chest. It couldn’t be who I hope it is. It can’t be. It isn’t - she would never come back to see me anyway, after how shitty I was to her and after that scene I’d made in the hospital parking lot.

But there she was. When I turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, her face was the one I saw looking up at me. Her gorgeous blue eyes are shining like sapphires in the gleam of the afternoon light.

Her mouth opens, but I can’t hear anything at first.

Just my heartbeat ringing in my ears.

“Dallas,” she says, slowly and a bit worried. The tone of her voice is light, but her face seems hard. “Are you alright?”

I can’t even bring myself to answer her. Instead, I just step aside and allow her entrance into my cave. I watch her face as she walks inside and I close the door behind her. Her eyes get really big. My mouth is dry.

“Have you even left since…?” she trailed off.

I just shake my head. Suddenly, I feel awful, like some sort of lonely prick who can’t even get up to take out the garbage or clean up the litter box. Cat comes trotting into the living room where we both stand and rubs its face against Adrienne’s leg. She looks down and smiles sideways, bending down to pet him.

“You look hungry,” she says to him, picking him up in her arms. Her nose wrinkles immediately and she brings her face away from his big, gray, furry face. “Phew, you’re a stinky kitty.”

Something happens to me when she says it. I don’t know what it is or why it even happens, but my heart swells up and I see her smiling. My own lips start doing this twitching thing and they curve upward, at least, the corners do. And I remember that she hasn’t even been in the house since she picked up her things and left. I wonder if she thinks about her side of the bed.

It’s still empty, anyways. It’s still the same as it was when she lived with me.

We walk into the kitchen and she sees the sink. It’s filled with dirty plates that I haven’t washed. She gives me this look over her shoulder like she can’t believe I’ve let myself slip so far, but she doesn’t say it. It’s just in her eyes. When she turns her face away, that look is gone, and I feel the same as I did before.

“Your bowls are empty,” she tells Cat. Then she turns to face me directly, looking up from the cat in her arms. “How long have you left him with no food?”

I shrug.

“I try and get up to feed him once a day.”

“You try?” she asks. “You can’t just try, you know.”

“I know,” I say. “Trying is never good enough.”

We share this look and she sees me for what I’ve become since the accident: a wreck. I’m sweaty and tired and messy and my house is a pigsty. But she doesn’t say that. Instead, she feeds the cat and takes a seat in the seat next to me at the table. I don’t remember when I sat down. I must have been too tired to stand.

Adrienne looks up at me and folds her hands in her lap.

“I don’t think you should live alone,” is all she says.

And that’s when I know.

I missed the sound of her voice so much.