Please Don't Forgive Me

“What should I wear?” I whined to Garrett over the phone. “The blue skirt or the black dress?”

“Why not just jeans?” he sighed. “If this guy likes you, he won’t care. And seriously? You met the guy on the bus—I doubt he’s taking you to a five star restaurant.” I rolled my eyes and pulled the skirt out of my closet.

“Blue skirt it is,” I mumbled. “Black or tan stockings?”

“Tan,” he sighed. “What the hell would you do without me Ani?” He laughed at himself and I rolled my eyes at him yet again.

“I would be very, very uncoordinated—my clothes would never match.” I slid the stockings on under my oversized-getting-ready t-shirt. “You do know that’s the only reason I’m friends with you, right?” I laughed. “You have incredible style and fashion sense. You started with the sweater vests at like what, nine?” I joked.

“Eight actually,” he responded sarcastically, “and you are so totally jealous that you can’t be as effortlessly stylish as I am.”

“Psh, yeah, c’mon Garrett. We both know that I have better fashion sense. I’ve just rubbed off on you over the years.” I could feel him roll his eyes through the phone. “Actually, since we have shared an apartment, your wardrobe has improved a great deal.”

“Only because I needed to teach you a lesson.” I laughed loudly and pulled on a white wife-beater and a pair of gold flats.

“Aww, Garrett, I miss you. But at least I know which jeans are mine when you’re gone. Seriously.” I threw my t-shirt in the hamper and put on my foundation, blush, eye shadow and mascara.

“Well, I’m sorry that you’re fat and you wear the same size jeans,” he scoffed playfully.

“I think you have that wrong. I think you’re anorexic.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “So, who’s this guy? I’m curious.”

“His name is Dane. He’s twenty-one, he goes to U Phoenix, and he works at the bank. Uhm, what else? Oh, yeah, his eyes are prettier than yours, and his hair is actually combed.”

“Hardee-har-har. So he’s a loser?” he joked.

“When was the last time you showered?” I shot back--in a joking manner of course.

“That was harsh. Even for you Ani.” I laughed and finished getting ready.

“Alright, I gotta go. He’s knocking on the door. I’ll call you when I get home if it isn’t too late?”

“Yeah. Call regardless of time. Alright?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m sure we won’t be out long. I told him I have to be home by ten. If I’m still awake, I’ll call around eleven here time. Cool?”

“Cool. I’ll keep my phone on,” he assured.

“Ciao, amigo mío.”

Dane walked into my apartment carelessly and handed me a bouquet of yellow roses. I wasn’t a huge fan of yellow roses—they reminded me of funerals, an irony that I only now understand.

He led me out to his car and to a small restaurant that I had never heard of. Dinner involved little conversation and a lot of awkward silences. When Garrett sent me a text message half way through, Dane seemed angered and told me to put my phone away and stop paying more attention to a guy all the way across the country than the guy sitting right in front of me. So I put my phone away and I forced myself to avoid typing under the table. It didn’t last long though, as my will power was nonexistent. Dane instead took my phone and placed it in his jacket pocket to force me to talk to him. I should have known giving him my phone was a mistake, but it didn’t seem like it would be at the time.

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When Dane dropped me off that night, I was relieved to say the least. It was the worst date ever and he creped me out—and rightfully so.

It was later that night--after I had showered and pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head--that I realized he still had my phone. I thought nothing of it and I crawled into my bed drifting off to sleep.

When I awoke at three a.m. it was because I couldn’t breathe. There was tape over my mouth and I couldn’t move my wrists. When I tried to move I found myself trapped. I heard Dane’s voice and it was deeper and darker than it usually was—and that scared the shit out of me. He held my phone in my face and the screen read ’27 missed calls’ and there was an icon indicating 20 new voicemails and 57 new text messages—all of which were probably from Garrett. “Cheating on me, huh?” Dane breathed in my ear.

What I didn’t understand was how I could possibly be cheating on Dane. We certainly weren’t together and if I was cheating on anyone, wouldn’t it be the person I had been with longer? And I wasn’t ‘with’ Garrett. He was my best friend and my roommate.

All I remember after that is waking up in an old musty smelling garage. Dane did things to me that I couldn’t even think about and he left me there, tied to the garage door--to die.

In actuality it was a brilliant plan. Who would look for someone in a garage? And if anyone opened the garage door, they could possibly kill me in the process.

Through the entire time I was there, fighting to stay conscious, I thought of what it would be like to die here. I thought of never seeing my friends and family again and never knowing what those fifty-seven text messages said. My worst fear was that Garrett would hate me for not answering him. If I died, I didn’t want my best friend to be mad at me. That would just be a really crappy way to go.