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A little after nine PM, Carson’s cell phone began to ring, the caller ID lighting up with a name that made him feel intensely nauseous - Dad. For a moment, Carson was seized with the urge to do something stupid, like pick up and beg for forgiveness. I’m sorry, I was stupid, I’ll tell them it was a lie, I’ll tell them it was nothing- but that was nine-year-old logic. That was the logic of a kid who was being hurt and honestly thought he deserved it, like it was some kind of financial transaction.

Jenn had told him not to pick up. Carson swallowed down the bile in his throat and tapped decline.

Thirty seconds later, his phone beeped - one new voicemail - and began to ring again. Carson declined the call a little bit faster this time.

Thirty more seconds later, there was another new voicemail. Carson ground his teeth together as the phone began to ring again - again, he declined it. With it ringing every thirty seconds like this, his phone was nearly useless for anything else

Treating it like a live landmine, Carson carefully navigated through his contact menus until he found what he was looking for - block this number.

That was stupid, said the nine-year-old logic, after he’d done it. If you thought he was mad before, he’s really going to be mad, now. You haven’t seen angry like this before--

“Shut up,” said Carson, to his internal monologue. The phone beeped with one last voicemail, and did not ring again. The whole ordeal had taken maybe less than five minutes. A sense of emotional exhaustion washed over Carson. He flopped onto his bed and didn’t move for at least the next two minutes - then lifted the hand with his phone in it and made the minimum effort required to send a text message.



Elke was quick on the reply:



The shortness of her reply made Carson suspect she was either baking or doing something with the baby. He fired off another text, this time to Nell.











With great effort, Carson roused himself from the comforter and got his coat and boots on. Today had been long, and he was about to make it even longer, but if an endless shitstorm was about to hit the fan, then he wanted to be in good company.