Annabelle

Three days have passed since the accident, and I still haven't received a call from anyone. I have my moments where I'm starting to relax a little bit, but most of the time I'm just on edge. My phone feels like a dead weight in my hands, so I try to ignore it as much as possible. I still keep it close to me though, afraid that my parents might answer it if I just leave it laying around everywhere.

The only good thing in this whole scenario is that my dad's car seems fine. I almost cried when I first inspected it after placing the piece of paper under the wiper of the sports car. I still look at it now every chance I get, from every angle, and in every lighting condition. All of this of course without anyone noticing what I'm doing. I've already started feeling a little bit like a crazy person, always anxious and on edge, and constantly looking over my shoulder.

Right now I'm in my room, sitting on my bed which is covered in papers. I'm supposed to study for my history test that is coming up at the end of the week, but I should have known that this is almost impossible at the moment. I've read the same first paragraph about ten times now already and still haven't taken in a single word. I let out a frustrated sigh and let myself fall back into the mass of pillows I have propped up against the headboard.

I close my eyes for a few seconds and try to take deep soothing breaths the way I've seen my mom do it when she's playing one of her meditation videos. Isn't that supposed to help? After a few more breaths I'm starting to feel a little sleepy. A nap sounds good about right now. Then my phone rings.

My freaking phone is ringing!

At least I think it is. There's a continuous buzzing noise coming from somewhere on this bed, hidden under all the papers.

I pause for a millisecond, the thought crossing my mind that it could also be a beehive or something similar that produces such a sound.

I push the lame excuse out of my mind and go into action mode. I lift up papers left and right and when that doesn't get me anywhere, I just start throwing them off the bed.

Finally. I found it. Just as I reach for it, the screen turns black. I'm not sure if I feel relieved or mortified. I hesitate for a moment before I unlock the screen to look at the missed call. And sure enough, it's from an unknown number.

Damn it! I knew it. My life as I know it will come to an end.

No voicemail though. I'm not sure what to make of that. Maybe it wasn't the owner of the sports car after all, maybe just a telemarketer or something.

The phone suddenly vibrates in my hand again, and I drop it back onto the bed like it's trying to bite my hand off.

The buzzing stops as soon as it started though, so I know it is only a text message this time. I swallow hard like the baby I am and pick it back up.

Unknown: Can we talk tonight? I found your message on my car.

My hand flies to my mouth. I knew I wouldn't get away with it. So I hit reply and start typing a new text message with shaky fingers.

Me: Sure.

Does that sound defensive or like I'm not remorseful? Shoot. Quickly I pull up another message.

Me: I'm really sorry about what happened. I hope we can work something out so I can pay you back for the damage.

Unknown: So you have the money to pay for the repairs?

Damn it. Of course I don't. What was I thinking how this would go? That I would meet a fairy godmother who'd just set me free of this dilemma telling me not to worry about it, or that the owner will happily pay for the repairs?

Me: No, I don't. But I'd be willing to offer my services.

Wait. What? Oh my gosh.

Me: That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that I could maybe work for you somehow if you need any sort of help with anything, or I can find a job someplace else and pay you off slowly.

My face is still beet red. I can feel the heat all the way to my ears and around my neck. How embarrassing.

Unknown: I already have something in mind for you. We'll talk about it some more later. ;)

He sent me a wink emoticon. That's good, right? Or maybe not so much, depending on if it was meant in a cute or in a creepy way.

Maybe it's not even a guy. I'm not even sure why I assumed that right away, but somehow I just picture a guy driving that car.

What a mess.

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