Stairs

I opened the door.

“Where were you?”

“Out with the boys.”

“Until 3:00 AM?”

“Look, I’m too tired for this right now. I can explain everything you want to know in the morning.”

“How come you always take your car to work but never when you go out with ‘the boys’?”

“Because I’d rather not pay for gas when I can just ask my friends to pick me up—I already told you, we can talk in the morning.”

I trudged towards the stairs.

“It’s already morning.”

“Very funny.”

“You’re not going to blow me over like this!”

“Look, I’m not discussing this right now.”

“Yes, we are. You have managed to blow hundreds of dollars with ‘the boys’ over the past few weeks.”

I put my foot on the first step.

“Hundreds of dollars spent on ‘the boys’. Whoever this ‘the boys’ is, she must be pretty expensive.”

“You know they don’t have much cash; I always pick up the tab for the food.”

“I don’t even know who ‘they’ are!”

“It’s just the guys from work: Lance, Tom, all of them.”

“Tom is married and has two kids, there’s no way his wife lets him stay out from 7:00 until 3:00.”

“His kids are still young, they go to bed early. Why are you going through my credit card bills, anyway?”

“Why are you going out in a car I don’t recognize every weekend?”

“It’s Rob’s car.”

“Rob owns a blue sedan, not a gray one.”

“You don’t even wear your glasses at night when I go out.”

“You can’t just keep kicking me down for wanting something better for myself.”

“What do you want better for yourself? I work full-time to stuff your fat face and all you do is spit it back out at me!”

She went silent.

I started once again up the steps.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her voice cracked. I turned to look at the sobbing woman standing behind me. I wasn’t about to continue arguing with such a mess, so I turned my back and continued upstairs to go to bed.

…

“I left the next morning.”

“Was that the end of your relationship with her?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you contacted her since?”

“No.”

“Has she tried to contact you since?”

“Many times.”

“And you…?”

“I let her go to voicemail.”

“Well… I can say one thing for certain: you messed up and you know it.”

I turn to look at my new therapist’s concerned glare.

“Do you have her number still?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I suppose we should end our session early for you to get started cleaning up after yourself. How far along should she be?”

“Five months.”

“Alright, well, I want an update next week on you. Come in at the same time, please.”

I get up and leave his office, phone in hand. By the time I made it out to my car I had found her contact info and was calling her.

No answer. It didn’t even let me leave a voicemail.

I get in my car and head down the freeway until I reach a familiar town. I navigate the endless streets with perfection and make it in front of the small two-story house. I walk up to the front door and knock. I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. The door opens. It’s a man.

“What is it?”

I ask if she still lives there.

“Ah, so you’re the jerk. Yeah, she still lives here, but you can’t see her.”

“I’m here to—”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Now get lost before I call the cops.”

He slams the door, and I place my forehead against it.

…

I left my house after the thought of her has resurfaced in my mind, causing me to quickly run out of alcohol. This wasn’t the first night I’d had to drive down to the liquor store drunk because of her.

I picked out a pack of cheap beer. It the kind that tastes awful but gets the job done. I was fumbling with my keys to get back in my car when I heard the crash. I turned around to stare in awe at the wreckage.

A group began to gather around, as I could see a small flame start where the two engines collided. I power-stumbled on over after placing the drinks in my car to find the bystanders pulling a woman out of the backseat of the car.

It was her.

I hobbled even quicker when I saw her face. I tried to push my way through the crowd to see her but was rejected by the herd.

“Get lost, drunk; this is serious.”

I saw her new boyfriend in the driver’s seat, where the bystanders were having trouble opening the door to get to him.

I made my way around the crowd that is fascinated by the pregnant woman. When I made it to the driver’s side door, I pushed everyone out of the way, as they weren’t able to open the locked door. I braced myself and slammed my elbow into the glass to open the door from the inside. Smoke coated my eyes as I tried to find the handle.

The door opened, and I reached around his unconscious body to undo his seatbelt, only to pull out a body that’s been charred waist-down. The others flood around me to put out the flames, which only encompass his upper-thighs: everything below is completely scorched.

An ambulance arrived and quickly scooped her up, leaving the dying man with an emergency blanket as he wasn’t as important as the baby.

It wasn’t long before he went pale.

…

I unlock my phone, hands shaking, to call her.

No answer.

I haven’t seen her post anything online since before the crash, and I’m beginning to panic.

I decide to get in my car and drive down to her house.

The front door is unlocked.

I scour the bottom floor to find nothing.

I head upstairs and see her in the bedroom.

She’s dead.

The only other things I find are an empty crib and a note addressed to no one.

As I read, I find it harder to tell which splotches of tears on the paper are hers or mine.

After I finish reading I call 911.

I take one last look at her, then turn and head downstairs to wait for the ambulance to arrive.