Walking Disaster

knocking.
    America lay next to Shepley, tangled in his arms the way I imagined Abby would have been in mine at that point.
    “Have you guys seen Abby? I can’t find her.”
    Shepley raised himself up onto his elbow, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. “Huh?”
    “Abby,” I said, impatiently flipping on the light switch. Shepley and America both recoiled. “Have you seen her?”
    Different scenarios ran through my mind, all causing different degrees of alarm. Maybe she had let out Toto, and someone had taken her, or hurt her, or maybe she’d fallen down the stairs.
But Toto’s claws were clicking against the floor down the hall, so that couldn’t be it. Maybe she went to get something out of America’s car.
    I rushed to the front door and looked around. Then I jogged down the stairs, my eyes searching every inch between the front door of the apartment and America’s car.
    Nothing. She’d vanished.
    Shepley appeared in the doorway, squinting and hugging himself from the cold.
    “Yeah. She woke us up early. She wanted to go home.”
    I took the stairs back up two at a time, grabbing Shepley’s bare shoulders, pushing him back all the way to the opposite side of the room, and grinding him into the wall. He gripped my
T-shirt, a half-frowning, half-stunned expression on his face.
    “What the—” he began.
    “You took her home? To Morgan? In the middle of the fucking night? Why?”
    “Because she asked me to!”
    I shoved him against the wall again, blinding rage beginning to take over my system.
    America came out of the bedroom, her hair ratted and her mascara smeared below her eyes. She was in her robe, tightening the belt around her waist. “What the hell is going on?” she
asked, pausing midstep at the sight of me.
    Shepley jerked out his arm and held out his hand. “Mare, stay back.”
    “Was she angry? Was she upset? Why did she leave?” I asked through my teeth.
    America took another step. “She just hates goodbyes, Travis! I wasn’t surprised at all that she wanted to leave before you woke up!”
    I held Shepley against the wall and looked to America. “Was she . . . was she crying?”
    I imagined Abby disgusted that she’d allowed some asshole like me, someone she didn’t give a shit about, taking her virginity, and then I thought maybe I’d somehow,
accidentally hurt her.
    America’s face twisted from fear, to confusion, to anger. “Why,” she said. Her tone was more an accusation than a question. “Why would she be crying or upset,
Travis?”
    “Mare,” Shepley warned.
    America took another step. “What did you do?”
    I released Shepley, but he took a fistful of my shirt as I faced his girlfriend.
    “Was she crying?” I demanded.
    America shook her head. “She was fine! She just wanted to go home! What did you do?” she yelled.
    “Did something happen?” Shepley asked.
    Without thinking, I flipped around and swung, nearly missing Shepley’s face.
    America screamed, covering her mouth with her hands. “Travis, stop!” she said through her hands.
    Shepley wrapped his arms around mine at the elbows, his face just a couple of inches from mine. “Call her!” he yelled. “Fucking calm down, and call Abby!”
    Quick, light footsteps ran down the hall and back. America returned, her hand outstretched, holding my phone. “Call her.”
    I snatched it from her hand and dialed Abby’s number. It rang until the voice mail picked up. I hung up and dialed again. And again. And again. She wasn’t answering. She hated
me.
    I dropped the phone to the ground, my chest heaving. When tears burned my eyes, I picked up the first thing my hands touched, and launched it across the room. Whatever it was splintered into
large pieces.
    Turning, I saw the stools situated directly across from each other, reminding me of our dinner. I picked one up by the legs and smashed it against the refrigerator until it broke. The
refrigerator door popped open, and I kicked it. The force caused it to spring open again, so I kicked it again, and again, until Shepley finally rushed over to keep it closed.
    I stomped to my room. The messy sheets on the bed mocked me. My arms flung in every direction as I ripped them off the mattress—fitted sheet, top sheet, and blanket—and then returned
to the kitchen to throw them in the trash, and then I did the same with the pillows. Still insane with anger, I stood in my room, willing myself to calm down, but there was nothing to calm down
for. I’d lost