It was the middle of the night when I set the keys on the table, grabbed my suitcase, and left the city. By dawn, James had called me more times than I could count.
I stared at the screen, lighting up with his name, then turned the phone off. I didn’t turn it back on until I was almost home.
When I did, I returned one call.
“You just left like that? Why wouldn’t you let me see you off? Casey, say something! Didn’t we agree I’d take you to the airport?” James shouted over the phone, his voice hysterical.
I looked out the window at the passing scenery and let out a soft smile. “James, like I said, we should part on good terms.”
“You–”
Just as he was about to speak again, a woman’s pained voice came through the phone.
“James, please stop calling her, okay? My stomach hurts so bad...” It was Paris.
James snapped, the frustration clear in his voice. “Why are you telling me? Am I Ibuprofen or something?”
So, Paris had gone to look for him again. However, this time, she clearly misc
