• Note: Some swearing.

    Chapter One – Blue Suitcase

    Emilee was a lot like the weather. She was highly unpredictable and could often be used as a scapegoat whenever I was having a bad day. You wouldn't even want me to get started on her moods. However despite her numerous faults, I had somehow allowed myself to become her friend and confidant. She would complain to me about everything, her favored subjects of inane passive aggressiveness being her parents and her boyfriend.

    "I'm sick of this place."

    This was her third favorite topic of bitching. It was a common complaint, one that always managed to sneak into most of our conversations. We could have been talking about the rising cost of postage stamps and Emilee would be able to somehow throw that into the mix. It was her mantra, a simple song that she loved to sing in hopes of getting a rise out of me.

    "What about Jack?" I ask, allowing my arm to dangle out her bedroom window.

    "What about Jack?" She shoots back.

    "You sick of him too?"

    This would always get her to shut up, if only for a moment. I don't even bother looking at her now; I'm not exactly in the mood to see her pissy face. Instead I lean my head against the window pane, absentmindedly scratching at the paint. After a few moments, I bring my hand up to inspect the flecks stuck underneath, deep red like broken blood cells. Those are going to bug me. As I set to picking the bothersome chips from my nails, I wonder when Emilee will grow tired of this silence and make her next move. In a perfect universe she'd drop the subject all together and we could continue on with our regularly scheduled Friday evening in which we'd have a thrilling time doing absolutely nothing. Of course a life with Emilee Ryder in it could never be that simple. Knowing this regrettable fact, I'm left to wait with not so bated breath.

    The agonizing drawn out silence is finally broken with an exasperated sigh and the creak of aging bedsprings. I roll my head to face Emilee, watching as the girl makes a line for her closet. Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh of my own. It had officially begun. A few seconds later, Emilee turns to face me again, this time carrying a suitcase. The suitcase, blue and worn around the edges, had seen the beginning of many journeys, always serving as the punctuation to Emilee's point. However, despite all the new beginnings I don't think the suitcase ever saw any ends. I'd even be willing to bet Emilee always quit after the prologue once she lost interest in making a scene. Throwing the suitcase on her bed, Emilee started to pack.

    I knew I was expected to say something at this point; it was just the natural order of things. This wasn't our first read-through of the script after all; we'd been through this same bullshit countless times. I would ask her to stay or point out something about our lives that made them worth living. It didn't really matter how I said it, as long as the words were there. However, no matter how many times the two of us had been through this, I just couldn't bring myself to do my part in our play, not tonight. I was tired of rehearsing, waiting for the day that Emilee would shut up and actually do something about her discontent. The girl suddenly lets out a muffled curse, bringing her finger to her mouth to suck on it. She mumbles something about a damn zipper as she nurses the injured digit before returning to her task. A few more futile pulls of the zipper later, Emilee sighs and reopens the thing. She'll have to pack lighter. Throwing a few shirts back at her dresser, the girl looks up at me with narrowed eyes.

    "God, don't go all silent on me now. I'm not in the mood."

    I shrug.

    "Send me a postcard."
    The look Emilee gives me is all wide eyes and surprise. She wasn't expecting me to break the script, not when we were just getting good at it. The look quickly passes and she slips back behind the mask of indifference she's crafted oh so carefully throughout the years. She may think she's fooling me with this charade, but I've already seen the cracks. I've thrown her a curveball and she hit a foul, there's no undoing that. The challenge has been given and she can either take it or leave it.

    "Yeah, whatever." Emilee grumbles in response. She makes a second attempt at the zipper, this time it works. Gripping the handle, she pauses for a moment. I'm watching her intently now, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning forward. This is the first time we've gotten this far, so naturally I'm on the edge of my seat. One more look is cast in my direction and I almost take it all back, but I swallow my words. The ball is in her court now and there is no way in hell I'm taking it back. A moment passes, our gazes locked on one another. This time, my breath really isbated.

    Then suddenly Emilee turns and places her packed suitcase at the door to her room. My eyebrow quirks.

    We'll just wait and see where it ends up in the morning.