Damn him.

Hannah got herself out of bed, slowly, and looked out the window. It was pouring and only four am. And Bright wasn't there. Her father had just died - but she wasn't going to cry.

Yet.

In her sleep she dreamt that she called him and he had said that he'd be over as soon as possible. He said he was already booking his flight online. He should have been in Massachusetts by now. But now she was awake, and she hadn't been out of her bed for some time now.

Hannah sighed heavily, she wasn't going to cry, even though she wanted to. She wanted him to come over and comfort her and tell her things nobody else would.

Maybe she was falling in...

No. Hannah didn't know love. She knew how to get by, how to make it with little or no help. Being independent was what she was about. But now, she needed Bright.

She couldn't let him, or her father's death, get in the way. She went dresser and quickly. Once she had it open, she wrenched out sleek grey cellphone.

She had the number memorized. She'd called too many times, mostly hang-ups, before she got the nerve to actually wait for him to pick up. So she dialed quickly, hitting the numbers deftly.

Static, ringing, then a voice. "Uh, this is Bright's voicemail. I'm not available to pick up right now, but you can try again later, I guess. Bye."

Hannah hung up. She couldn't do it. She leaving a message seemed so - impersonal? She had to talk to him.

Pick up, damnit. I don't know what to do.

She frowned heavily.

Her cell phone started to vibrate obnoxiously in her hand. Bright's name and phone number was ill-illuminated on the screen.

She didn't think he'd call back.