Part 4

The following day, Rollie had woken up feeling groggy and disoriented. He groaned, why did his head hurt so much? Then, yesterday came flooding back. He rolled over, burrowed under the covers, and shoved a pillow on his head, blocking the lights and sounds that indicated that the outside world was continuing without him. Luckily, he was able to resume his sleep, ignoring the real world for a little while longer.

Later, he awoke for the second time. He still felt horrible. He was nauseous, his mouth was dry, he had difficulty focusing, and his head was pounding. He started to get up but flopped back onto the bed. He’d discovered his head didn't throb so much when he was in a prone position. Reflecting back, drinking himself into oblivion wasn't the wisest thing to do. He still didn't quite understand everything that happened himself. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, for quite some time. Maybe he'd stay there all day; without Angie, there wasn’t much incentive to face the day. Even work didn’t hold its usual appeal. He would have been satisfied staying there the entire day but the phone rang. Briefly, he considered ignoring it, but it could be Angie on the other end. Hopefully, delicately, without jarring his head too much, he moved to where the phone was.

"Tyler." he croaked.

"Rollie, it’s Francis."

"Oh, hi."

"I just wanted to let you know I spoke with Mira earlier. She was with Angie last night. She's OK. I mean, Angie's OK. Well, not OK exactly, but she's..."

"I know what you mean. Thanks." He disconnected the call, but didn’t put the phone down. Should he call her? If he did, what should he say? Would she even talk to him? His eyes drifted to the phone he still held. His eyes continued to travel over his body. He realized he was still wearing his clothes from last night, only now they were wrinkled almost beyond recognition. He then caught a whiff of himself, the smell made his stomach reel. He reeked of stale sweat, some sort of chemicals and alcohol. Procrastinating, he decided a shower was in order before he contacted Angie.

******

A few blocks away, his partner wasn’t doing much better. Angie had a very restless night. She was more exhausted than she was last night. That morning, she was like a zombie, operating by rote. She didn't remember feeding her cat, although she must have, as there was fresh food in the dish. She wasn’t sure if she had fed herself though. She considered eating something, but decided against it. Her stomach felt like it was tied in knots. That was the guilt eating away at her. For over an hour, she continued to prowl around her place, unsettled. Finally, she sat down on the couch. She still didn’t know what to do. Her eyes drifted to the card Mira left behind last night. Maybe Mira was right. Maybe talking to someone, a professional, would help?

****

At the loft, Rollie showered, shaved and changed his clothes. He fixed himself something to eat. He even tried to eat it but found that it was flavorless, plus it made his stomach feel worse. He got up and threw the rest of it in the rubbish bin. He wandered over to his workbench and tried to immerse himself in his work, but he couldn’t concentrate. Desperate for a diversion, he went into the VR chamber. He loaded his favorite program, one of his home. It didn’t provide the same comfort it usually did. It just reminded him of when Angie had viewed it with him. The other tapes weren’t any better. They just reminded him of when filmed that footage together that or he’d like to show her those places one-day.

He returned to the main living space and lounged on one of chairs. He would have turned on the TV but, with his luck, he was afraid he’d see some of their work. He turned on the radio, instead. Music filled the air. He could hear a man and a woman singing a duet. He couldn’t identify the artists but he could tell they had good voices. He closed his eyes and listened to the words. I've been wandering around the house all night / wondering what the hell to do / I'm trying to concentrate but all I can think of is you. He couldn’t make out the next few lines, then, This is torture - this is pain - it feels like I'm gonna go insane / I hope you're coming back real soon –‘cuz I don't know what to do. How appropriate he thought as he switched to a different radio station. He joined it in the middle on a song. Once again, he started listening to the lyrics. May do you wanna get married/Or run away/ I wanna wake up where you are/I won't say anything at all/ May do you wanna get married/Or run away/run away. Abruptly, he silenced the radio. He didn’t need to be reminded that Angie ran away instead of wanting to marry him. He looked at his watch and was shocked to find it was after noon. Thinking of all the hours left ahead of him, he strode over to the phone. From memory, he dialed a familiar number. When he heard it ring a first time, his breath caught in his throat. Then it rang a second time, a third, then a fourth. Then the answering machine picked up. He groaned. He finally worked up the nerve to call and she wasn’t there. Where was she? He listened to the message, just to hear her voice, but hung up without leaving a message. What he had to say couldn’t be done in a message. Where was she?

****

Angie had stared at the card for almost two hours before she worked up the courage to phone the number. The kind voiced woman on the other end, picked up on Angie’s heightened emotional state and made arrangements for her to see the counselor later that day. In fact, it would be the last appointment of the day. Immediately, Angie left for the appointment despite the fact she would be too early. Hanging around her apartment wasn’t doing anything for her mental health. Being outside, among people, might help her see things clearer.

Angie just walked around town, aimlessly, until she saw the time on one of the billboards. She hurried the remaining blocks to the medical center listed on the card. She got there just as the young man behind the reception desk was preparing to leave for the day.

"Are you Ms. Ramirez?" he inquired. At Angie’s positive response, he pushed a button on a panel behind the desk, notifying the counselor of her patient’s arrival.

"Please, have a seat. She’ll be right out. Do you mind if I leave or would you prefer if I stayed?"

"No, please leave, I wouldn’t want to keep you." Secretly, Angie was relieved. The fewer people who knew she was here, the better, as far as she was concerned. A moment later, a woman, several years older than Angie, approached her and introduced herself. "Mira mentioned you might be calling me. I’m glad you did. What do you say we go into my office and talk?" Silently, Angie followed the woman into a room at the end of the hall, and closed the door behind her. Even though the office was deserted, she felt better with the closed door. It made it seem like what they would talk about would stay within that room. With the door open, Angie had the oddest feeling her words would float out and into the world for everyone to hear. Logically, she knew that wasn’t true, but if it made it easier for her to talk, she wasn’t going to question it. And she wanted to talk. She hoped talking would help her resolve all these feelings within her. She knew talking with Rollie had always helped her before, but she couldn’t talk to him about this. She knew what he would say and it wasn’t what she needed to hear. He’d say she shouldn’t feel guilty, and he’d be right, but he couldn’t tell her how to stop feeling that way. This woman could. Then, she’d be able to talk to Rollie.