Miss You

I missed David. I missed him, alright? He always said I had a stubborn streak a mile wide, that I’d never confess that I was a whole lot less tough than I pretended to be. So here I was, admitting to the fact that I missed him more than words could ever convey. Except I wasn't admitting it to him.

I was alone in my bed, curled up with the sheets clutched to my chest. I was strangling them, bunching them up in my fists, clinging to them desperately, burying my face in them and sniffing – sniffing for signs of David. Anything to remind me of him and bring his presence back. I was aware that it was pathetic, but I was going crazy; three weeks without him had proven to be too much for me. I missed him being near me, his spicy scent enveloping me when he wrapped his big, strong arms around me. I missed turning over in the middle of the night into an open arm, waiting to tuck me away against a warm, loving chest. I missed his silly jokes and goofy smiles; I missed having a grinning, messy-haired bass player walk in the front door with two milkshakes and a movie after a long day of band rehearsal. I missed everything about him.

But, most of all, I missed his words – the only thing I ever found could soothe me when I really needed it. He always knew just what to say to make the misfortunes seem a lot less unfortunate. With a word, he could turn demons into dreams. He had a certain way with words that could just fix everything. That was his thing. His talent. No one really knew, because David tended to keep intimate things to himself, but I knew, and I needed it. Almost as much as I needed David himself.

My heart was aching. I didn't know what to do. I had missed people before, but never like this. I'd missed my brother when he went off to college in the eighth grade; I'd missed my parents when I left home to travel halfway across the country at eighteen. But never had it felt so bad. I’d never missed anyone this much before, and simply sniffing the bed sheets for any traces for him wasn't enough. I could wear one of his shirts, scavenge his pillow for a few loose hairs, drink out of one of his old coffee mugs; none of it would satisfy the craving for him I had in my soul. Hell, I could even go find the guitar he left behind – his least favorite, hence why he didn't bother taking it with him – and cling to it as hard as I could, hoping that this object that embodied everything David was about could somehow embody David himself. But nothing could help. Nothing but David's words.

David's itinerary was in the drawer of my bedside table. I could call him. The idea was stupid, and I knew it. It was two in the morning. God knew what time it was in whatever city he was in. And even aside from that, did I really want to give David the satisfaction of knowing he was right? That I really am a big puss?

No, it didn't matter. I didn't care. I would do anything to talk to David right now, even if it meant severing my dignity. Stupid dignity.

I dared to unfurl my hands from the cold, scentless sheets to reach over to the nightstand and pull the drawer. There, beside the book of matches, the empty ash tray and the half-drained bottle of lube – Jesus, David's lube – sat the thick packet of paper, right where I left it three weeks ago. David had handed it to me before he left. “For just in case,” he'd said. “Just in case.”

But what did "just in case" mean? Would this count as a Just In Case moment? Would freaking out, on the verge of slathering oneself in their absent boyfriend's lube just to feel closer to him be considered Just In Case?

Didn't know. Didn't care. Had to talk to David.

Reaching over blindly for the beside lamp, I fumbled for a moment before flipping it on, dousing the bedroom in light. Everything was illuminated now with such eye-opening clarity: David's old, sweat-stained wife beater hooked over the edge of the armoire; the empty Bic lighter he'd left on top of it; his comb, probably infested with his hairs and DNA and scent, strewn next to the lighter carelessly. Seeing it all made the hurt in my chest intensify. I used to bitch at him for leaving his shit everywhere. Now, I was happy he did. Except it reminded me all too much of him.

Sighing, I adverted my eyes and reached for the itinerary once again. It flopped heavily in my lap, flat and deadened. To think this lifeless pack of paper could hold the key to David, the most lively person I’d met, was almost astounding.

Eyes fixing, I wearily scanned the first page, then the next, and the next...there. September fourteenth. Today. Or tonight, rather...Actually, by that time, it was already the fifteenth, wasn't it? Shit! They'd be at the next hotel by now, wouldn't they? It depended – what the hell time zone were they in, anyway?

Hell. Fuck it. September fourteenth it is. If I didn't get to him there, I’d try every hotel in the packet until I did.

Blindly reaching over for the phone on the nightstand, eyes never leaving the ten-digit code on the paper, I wrapped my hand around the large device and pulled it over into my lap. I removed the receiver, glanced away from the packet long enough to dial in the designated numbers, and then held the cold plastic against my ear. The packet rolled and unrolled in my free hand as I waited.

The hotel clerk picked up on the third ring. Her voice was montonous and dry as she answered, so fast I almost didn't catch it. “Hola. Bienvenido al Hotel de San Sebastián,” the woman babbled. “Esto está hablando Catrina. ¿En qué puedo ayudarle?”

My mouth fell open in immediate in surprise. Eyes flicking back down, I scanned the paper.

Hotel of San Sebastian, San Sebastian.

They were in Spain. When in the holy fuck did David's band get so big that he got to go to Spain?

I was dumbfounded. “Uh, yeah, hello. Er, hola, I mean...yo quiero...David Ellefson?”

“Un momento – ”

“Wait, no!” My brain suddenly clicked into gear. How dumb could I be? An alias, of course. He'd be using an alias. “Uh, David Warren...por favor?”

For a moment, there was an irritated silence that buzzed along the line. Then, the woman repeated curtly, “Un momento.”

I could hear clicking. Typing of some sorts. Then, the clerk informed me in speedy Spanish, “Será transladado a su habitación. Gracias por llamar.”

I started to mutter, “Uh, gracias,” only to be cut off by the line deadening and then beginning to ring again. Sighing in relief, I relaxed against the headboard once more. This was good. I was getting through to David. Only a few moments more now, and I’d be fine.

It took several rings for anyone to pick up this time. For a moment, I wondered if anybody would. Eventually, they did, but it wasn't David's voice that greeted me with a nasty, groggy, “Hello?”

My heart fumbled. Oh no. It was Mustaine. Not Ellefson, Mustaine. I got the wrong Dave.

I found myself incapable of answering for a second. When all he could hear over the line was silence, Mustaine spat, “What the fuck do you want?”

Oh God. Calm down, Sarah. It's not the end of the world. He's there. He's gotta be there. Just calm down.

“Uh, hi, Dave.” Good God, Mustaine was going to kill me when he saw me next. “Is David there?”

I heard a typical, Mustaine-like growl rumble over the line. “Who is this?”

“Sarah,” I squeaked.

“Sarah who?”

“H-Hopper!”

“Sarah Hopper?” he repeated, as if the namesake itself made him want to vomit. Obviously, he didn't realize who I was. “Who the fuck is Sarah – ”

“SARAH HOPPER!” I heard a voice pipe cheerily in the near background of the phone. My heart stopped. “Gimme the phone! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

“Chill the fuck out, ass fairy. It's just a girl.”

“No, she's my girl. Hand the phone over, you dick!”

“Okay, okay...”

There was some rustling across the line. Dave snarled a few more rude comments as he handed over the phone. Typical Mustaine. I frowned a bit, then felt myself light up in an immediate grin as I heard my favorite voice in the world sing into my ear.

“Sarah!” His voice was cheerful, sing-song like a bird. It made my body warm over. “Baby! Hi!”

For the first time in days, I felt my face grow into a naturally painless smile.

“Hi, David,” I breathed.

“I've missed you so much! The road has been crazy. But it's amazing, Sarah. We've been everywhere! How are you? How have you been?”

“I've been great.” Lie. “Really, really great. How's traveling going?”

As expected, he missed my question. “You sound so down, gorgeous,” David nearly whined, mouth running a mile a minute. “What's the matter, baby? Are you alright? Are you sick?”

I laughed airily, clutching the phone with both hands. “I'm fine. I just...missed you.”

He chuckled. Maybe he was calming down now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah...a lot.”

From the rush of air over the line and the warm tone of his voice, I could tell he was wearing a bashful grin. “Aw, baby, I'm sorry...Where are you? What time is it there?”

“I'm in bed,” I mumbled. “It's two A.M.”

“Two A.M.? Wow. What are you still up for, sweetheart? Is there a Wheel of Fortune marathon on or somethin'?”

“No...” I couldn't help but laugh at that one. David and his charming humor. “No, I...I couldn't sleep.” He was silent for a moment, as if contemplating my statement, so I added, “Because I miss you.”

I knew this would be a big moment of triumph for him. I knew me admitting that I was a bit more dependent, a bit more needy than I portrayed myself to be would be some sort of victory for him. I always said I was tough. I always said I didn't need him as much as he thought I did. It was a bit insensitive, sure – saying he wasn't needed wasn't exactly the best way to show affection – but he never took it personally. He knew, or believed, anyway, that the tough outer exterior was just a cover for my true emotions, which could sometimes be a bit softer than I wanted them to be. I wanted to be strong and independent. It was my outward independence that originally attracted him to me, anyway. So he accepted and understood the way I was.

But he'd always said that I wasn't the tough cookie I made myself out to be. He liked to believe I was a much softer, delicate person beneath all the covers. He said it was because I didn't want to seem vulnerable. Truth was, I was so afraid of his reaction to my true emotions that I chose to hide them away. It was out of sheer desperation to not scare him off.

But now my cards were out on the table. I’d cracked. The secret was out. Yet that wasn't even the scary part – the scary part was was what he'd say in response.

My fingers tensed and trembled around the receiver in anticipation for what he said next, and I felt sick to my stomach.

He didn't reject me, though. He merely accepted me, as he always did. He didn't even have the heart to turn around and rub it in my face.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed softly, his words melting into my ears like butter, “I'm glad to hear you're missing me. I'm missing you too, y'know.”

This came as a surprise. David had never been afraid to express his feelings, but we had never really reached this pinnacle in our relationship before now. Of course, he had never been so far out of reach, either.

“You...you are?”

He chuckled warmly. “Yeah, I am.” There was a brief silence, during which I closed my eyes and listened to my slowing heartbeat. “But you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“It's like I'm right there with you.”

“How so?”

He sighed softly, and I could tell he was closing his eyes now too. Here comes the words, I thought. The words I needed.

“Because I can smell you,” he said. “And feel you. You're warm...and soft...and you're so small. You fit right in my arms. We're lying in bed together, and my nose is in your hair, and I can smell your shampoo...”

“What does it smell like?”

“Mmm. Coconuts. And strawberries...”

I smiled softly. He remembered the type of shampoo I used. “Go on.”

“And the window is open. There's a breeze...I'm playing with your hair. The way you love it.”

“Mmm...”

“Running it through my fingers, scratching your scalp...”

“And what am I doing?”

“Being silent, as always,” he said with a laugh. Got me there. “Clutching my fingers with one hand, running the other up my back, over my neck, into my hair...”

“Your hair...what's it like?”

“Loose, down. Soft. The way you like it.”

“Is it sweaty?” I asked. “From band practice?”

His voice low and husky, he replied, “No...I skipped band practice. Skipped it to stay with you.”

My heart leaped in my chest. “That's awfully nice of you.” I stifled a yawn as I began to grow drowsy. “Why would you want to stay with me, David?”

I could feel his smile radiating through the phone. “Because you're beautiful,” he replied. “And sweet, funny, charming, adorable...and because I love you.”

My heart seized in my chest. I couldn't breathe. It occurred to me that he'd just told me that he loved me...but I couldn't quite process the thought. It seemed so ludicrous – David loving me – that I had to ask again, just to be sure I’d heard correctly.

“Y-you...what?”

“Love you,” he repeated, showing no fear. “I love you.”

I must've stopped breathing. I was getting lightheaded. I had to open my eyes, just to be sure I was still rooted in the bedroom and not off somewhere in the clouds.

“Oh.”

That's all I could manage. I was at a loss for words. Apparently, David was too.

Love. Love...was it love? Did I love him? I didn't know. We'd been going out so long without any mention of the word that I’d thought of it as an impossibility. I’d never expected him to ever feel so strongly about me. So I pushed the thought far from my mind and forgot about it. But now that he mentioned it...it gave me a funny feeling inside. The same feeling I got when I thought about the way David held me, or his laugh, or his silly grins, or his words. It's the same gut-tickling, heart-fluttering feeling hearing his voice gave me. It was the same catastrophic, heart-stopping, spine-tingling, toe-curling feeling I got when I thought of his beautiful self possibly loving little old me. The feeling was so tremendous it felt as if it would swallow me whole, so impossibly large that my heart would pop right out of my chest. So could it be love? I’d never been in love before. I didn't know what it was like.

But it made sense. Me and David...in love. Oh yeah, it made sense, alright. It fit like a glove. And it finally gave a name to the goofy, fantastic feeling I always found myself bubbling with whenever I was in his presence. It felt good being able to label that state of stupidity as something other than just “happiness.” Because David brought me so much more than simple happiness.

I loved David.

I did. I loved him. And he loved me.

...What a fucking wonderful feeling.

“So, uh...” He let it drift off, almost gawkily. Maybe I’d been thinking about it a bit too long. He sounded unsure of himself. “You should probably – ”

“I love you, too,” I blurted. Wow. That felt even better. “I really do. I really, really, really love you!”

David's breath caught. For the first time ever in that relationship, I made his breath catch.

“Oh. Uh...”

“I do,” I insisted. “David, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you!”

He chuckled sheepishly. “Okay,” he muttered, a blush evident in his voice. “I – ”

“DAVID, I LOVE YOU!”

The apartment echoed in the spartan silence. A few birds fluttered and chirped outside, disturbed from their rest by my yell. The person in the apartment below yelled out something reminiscent to "keep it down."

“For Christ's sakes, I love you too! Now shut up!”

Grinning like a fiend, I obeyed his orders, but not before whispering one more time in defiance, “I love you!”

Laughing, he mumbled, “I love you too, you nut job.”

I could only grin over the line in response.

“Feels good to actually say it. Finally.” He was babbling absently. Sometimes, I wondered if he knew he spoke some of his thoughts. This time, I was sure he wasn't aware he was doing it. "Instead of thinking it, I mean."

“It feels awesome,” I gushed on a release of air. I'm sure I made him flush again.

“So, uh...do you think you could sleep now? We've been talking for a while, so the bill's gotta be sky high, and Dave looks like he's going to slaughter me if I make any more noise. Not to mention the fact that he caught me being a total puss over the phone...”

I laughed softly. My heart was pounding so loud. “Oh, he won't rag on you too bad. You know Dave – he'll forget about it soon enough.”

“Before the end of the tour, if I'm lucky,” he muttered sourly.

I laughed again. “Well, I'll let you go, then. Tell Marty and Nick I said hi, and tell Mustaine I said to take it easy on you!”

This time, it was his turn to laugh. “Will do, babe. And hey...thanks for calling. I missed you.”

“No problem. I missed you too.”

We both waited in a brief silence then, neither of us willing to hang up. Not just yet.

“David?” I asked meekly.

“Yeah?”

“Call me tonight and tell me how Spain was, alright?”

“Sure thing, babe.” I could hear the ghost of laughter again. “I...love you.”

I beamed. “Love you, too, handsome. Bye, David.”

“Sleep well, sweetie.” And the line went dead.

I pressed the receiver back on the hook again, then slowly returned the phone back to where it belonged on the nightstand, next to the itinerary. That damn, fateful itinerary. Grinning, I turned my face into my pillow and let out a squeal into the cushion. It was absolutely unbelievable. David loved me!

Once I’d managed to calm down, I flopped over on to my back again and let out a contented sigh. Clutching the sheets in my hands again, I brought the linens to my nose and inhaled. David. His smell was there. I couldn't find it earlier, but now I could. It was like he was right there with me – holding me in his arms, nose in my hair, taking in the scent of my shampoo as I ran my hands up his back, over his neck, and into his hair...

I didn't sleep a wink that night.