Running Into Figure Six

“Rooney, go home” she whispered. It was her first words to him since he arrived Louisiana. And not what he wanted to hear

“No i don’t want to. I’m worried about you” he insisted

“I don’t have much time left.” She said and looked out the window, a longing in her eyes. “And I’m too exhausted to keep a conversation ”

“Do you need anything? I’ll just get you stuff that you might need”

“No, I just need you to go. I can’ t end my life while you’re here” she said painstakingly, tears threatening to drop down her eyes.

That is why I should stay, he said with his eyes

“Go before I lose it. If you love me”

He stood up, and studied her, unsure of whether to oblige her or not. Then he walked out of the room and listened in the keyhole. He heard her yelling and calling herself a murderer and a fool, and he couldn’t help sobbing too.

Why is she doing this to us?

The only woman he’s ever cried for, is his mother, and he was so sick of it.

Why wouldn’t anyone want to be helped by their own family?

Rooney cut a paper out of his rough work document and wrote,

“Mom, It is Rooney, your dear son. When I was nine, you told me all you wanted for me, and my brother, Sydney was for us to be kind souls, and people who encouraged unity and kindness in whatever way they could. That way, we would be successful in a clean way.

Growing up, I have done a host of charitable work and I’d love to discuss them with only one person.

You of course. You’re the best mother in the world because you brought me to this high place in life. Without you, I would have been a vagabond. I love you and i really mean it. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough when I was home.”

Then he put his number underneath the paper, rolled it and slipped it in her keyhole.

There was a old mobile telephone in the house and he already checked if it was still working.

It was.

Then he slowly walked towards his car.

He was never coming back. Except she called. He turned on his laptop and started to type in AnonymousForever’ s timeline,

I am overwhelmed, and I know she is too, but at least I know what overwhelms me, and I can talk about it, to Cole, Wills , Jack, Bryan or Brandy, but she can’t, to anyone.

And no, I’m not talking about her.

No, not Clarissa.

It is my mother this time.

My mother is a statue and I feel like I’m responsible for it everytime I look at her, although I don’t know how. Isn’t that how she feels too? That she’s responsible for Dad’s death. Such a horrible way to live. I just really hope she’ll talk to me sooner than later. Or Sydney. Or Dr Morgan, her therapist. She’s always talking about death, and it scares me.

Now that I think about it, i need a distraction. I need to talk to someone about it, someone who’s not Cole or Wills or Jack, or Bryan or Brandy

Someone soft and warm, full of life. someone who is alone or seems lonely- A woman like her who might understand. A woman with the green eyes of nature. Clarissa Bean.

I just really hope it’s not a bad idea to start a conversation with her like this. I could just use the excuse of wanting to know each other so we could be friendlier neighbours if it did not sound too stupid in her ears.

I’m worried about her too. I should call her but I don’t have her number.

I don’t know why I’m worried about her. I feel like it’s my duty to be there for her, because it seemed she had no one, or maybe it’s just my assumption. We should talk about this- my former tenant, the one who lived in the quarters, had a family, and they were usually loud and chatty, and had friends and relatives over all the time, but, Clarissa moved in alone, and I’ve never seen any friends stop by ever since.

We should talk about this but she doesn’t want to be my friend.

There must be a reason she said that, but then she eats my homemade meals and asks me to get her sanitary pads, so i think she doesn’t trust me just yet, but at the same time has no choice but to ask me for help.

Because she has no one close by, or has no one at all.

I should convince her that she can talk to me, and I can be a good friend, because I really want to know her.

The other day I had woken up to hear her yelling across her balcony.

She was yelling, more like barking on phone, and trying to catch a breath, and after she hanged up, she seemed disillusioned, because she was grabbing her chest and crying.

Whoever she was talking to that day, surely had her on edge. I wanted to go check on her but then, she ran into her apartment and slammed the door with a big bang. I could have really offended her if I went.

Maybe she needed a good cry. We all do sometimes .

I’m just curious to know her reasons for needing a good cry.

And if she needs to know mine too, I’ll tell her.

I don’t have many secrets and I’m discreet, but she’s the kind of person who makes you easily comfortable with them- she’s funny, dramatic, and annoying in a good way.

And very pretty.

Maybe i really should get back home , to New York already. Mom might call me if she ever comes around. I hope she does.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Rooney slammed the lid over without shutting down. He ruffled his hands through his hair and sighed. He was not getting any sleep that night even though he was exhausted.

He waited for day to break and then after checking on her secretly for the last time, he left.