Free Bullet by Jade C. Jamison

the phone.  “What the fuck is she doing?”  He started pressing buttons on his phone again, the expression on his face communicating so much.  Yes, he should have called his mom’s cell first.  He didn’t say a word but just held the phone to his ear.  “Mom…where the hell are you?  I’m here at home and you’re not.  I’m worried about you.  Please call me and let me know you’re okay.”  He hung up but a cloud hung over his head, and he clenched his jaw.  “Maybe she’s on a date or something.”
    He stood up again and started pacing.  “Sorry if I’m upsetting you too, Val.  I guess maybe we can just watch TV until she gets home.”  I could tell he watched over his mother very carefully.  I knew he called her several times a week from school.  I wondered if his father was dead or just divorced from his mother, but I didn’t want to ask him about it.
    He switched the television on and starting surfing through channels, never staying on any one show for very long.  I thought of grabbing one of the books I had in my suitcase, but I decided against it, knowing I wouldn’t retain much of what I studied anyway.  So I tried my best to relax.
    Ethan finally settled on CNN, and I thought that was probably the worst choice out of all the possibilities.  He’d be witnessing the dregs of humanity, the world at its worst—murder, arson, government scandals.  If it were me, that kind of television would just make me more anxious.
    And then something happened.  He slid his arm around my shoulders.  An electric thrill ran through my body, just under the surface, and suddenly I was aware of everything.  After a long time, though, nothing more happened, and Ethan even shifted a little to redial his mother.  But he just left another message, asking her to call.
    After the emotional day, sitting still next to Ethan’s warm body, I dozed off and stirred later when he called his mother again, but then I fell completely under sleep’s heavy spell.  In the back of my mind, I wondered if he felt comforted holding me or if he was starting to feel like I mattered to him.  I didn’t know, but I wasn’t complaining about being close to him.  I wasn’t sure when I drifted off, sometime early morning, I thought.
    I awoke early the next morning with a stiff next and sore muscles, still in the same position, still in Ethan’s arms.  I was surprised neither he nor I were sweating, but the house was cold.  I noticed my hands were chilly as I started to stretch.  The television was still on, CNN in its never-ending cycle of news reports.  I spotted the remote next to Ethan’s right hand and reached over his lap for it.  Then I switched the TV off.
    Ah, sweet silence.  That felt good.
    I stood and stretched again and decided to let Ethan sleep longer.  I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did know he’d been up a good chunk of the night.  He needed some rest, especially if we were going to have to spend the rest of the weekend figuring out what had happened to his mom.  Now I was really worried about her.
    I decide d to go ahead and take a shower so I’d be prepared for whatever Ethan decided to do.  I went upstairs and got a fresh change of clothes out of my luggage, as well as all the other toiletries I thought I’d need.  I went in the bathroom and couldn’t see a closet where there might be towels stored, nor any shelves, so I went back in the hallway.  There were shelves between Ethan’s room and the bathroom and, sure enough, there were towels and washcloths on them.  I grabbed one of each and went in the bathroom where a warm shower was beckoning me.
    I needed it and it felt great.  By the time I was out and dressed, Ethan was up and at the kitchen table, thumping his fingers.  He looked up at me.  Oh, no.  Why hadn’t I bothered with fresh makeup?  And I’d combed out my hair but hadn’t done anything else with it.  I was sure I looked like crap.  But Ethan was too