I still haven’t slept much. Maybe a couple of hours here and there. But I can’t. Not since I said those words to her, “I quit.”
Quitting isn’t inside of me. I don’t understand the concept.
What I do understand is time. Numbers. Scoring.
For a guy like me, time and numbers are important. When I’m competing, everything is based on time and numbers. Time for qualifying, tricks, runs, all of it.
And numbers. . . well, I’m given a number based on my performance. Judged for how good of a show I put on for the spectators using variety, execution, form and flow, use of the course, energy, excitement. . . you name it, I’m judged. I’m given a score. 1-100.
There’s one thing in everyone’s life that’s constant.
Time.
They say it passes day after day at the same pace. But does it?
I don’t think it does. Not for me anyway. Not for Rhya. When I’m on a bike competing, I’m given ninety seconds for a qualifying run. In the Caudrillis Elimination round, I’m given fifty seconds. In the semi-final, seventy-five seconds. The final round, seventy-five seconds from when I take the first jump.
What’s my point to all this?
Time. It means something important. Seventy-five seconds might not seem like a lot of time but believe me, it can seem like forever.
Einstein had a theory on time, too. Have you heard of it?
Time is relative. You’re thinking to yourself, what the fuck does that mean, right?
Or maybe I am. What does it mean?
Einstein’s theory of relativity is complicated if you ask me, but I have an understanding of it when I’m on my bike. Remember when I said when I’m soaring through the air, time seems irrelevant? It’s the only time when everything around me slows down.
What the fuck was Einstein talking about though? I think it went something like space time is curved and can be warped by matter and energy. And then he lost me on what happens next.
I do know what it’s like to be warped by something and drawn to someone.
Where’s my gravity tied to?
A shithole apartment in Pasadena that might as well be the size of Texas at the way it draws me to her.
There’s nothing worse than being pulled toward someone your heart is begging you to stay away from. That’s how the gravitational force works though.
New Year’s Eve. A night I should be out partying, but instead, I’m heading back to my room at the hotel hours before midnight. The last thing I want to do tonight is to be around a crowd of people. It’s one of those nights I need absolute silence.
Desolation.
Do you see that guy in the elevator? The one with the dark circles under his eyes? Wait, no, my sunglasses are on so you can’t see that. Look closer. He’s the one with his phone in his hand and obsessing over a text message, his jaw clenched, sweating, his mind spinning.
I see him too. I am him. I’m that racing pulse. My heart, my head, it’s exploding with confusion, and I can’t snap myself out of it. Probably because of what I’m looking at. A text from Reece, Rhya’s older brother.
We’re back to time and what it means. It’ll mean something here soon. Pay attention.
7:49 p.m. The text comes through.
Reece: Have you heard from Rhya.
That’s the first indication in my night that’s relative to time. But not the last. My gaze flits around the room, never settling on anything, kind of like my thoughts these last four days.
7:51 p.m. My body responds to the message.
Do you see me there in the hotel elevator? The one breathing heavier, louder, body temperature rising. . . tension in my face and shoulders? Can you hear the beating of my heart and the way it skips a beat?
You’re probably wondering why does it skip a beat, aren’t you?
It does because I usually never hear from Reece. Sure, we’re always trying to track down Rhya about once every few months, but after my last interaction with her, if she’s missing, I know what that could mean.
Me: No. Not lately.
8:03 p.m. Can you feel the time ticking by slowly like I can? Can you feel the minutes passing by, one click slower than the next?
Reece: I can’t get a hold of her and I went to her apartment, but there was no answer.
8:07 p.m. Do you see the way my body breaks out into a cold sweat?
Me: I’ll try calling her and see if she picks up for me.
Even if she sees my number, she won’t answer, but I have to at least try. Over the last four days since I was at her apartment, I’ve sent her a dozen messages, even though I said I wouldn’t and she hasn’t answered a single one.
I don’t try calling her. Maybe I’m afraid to hear her voice. I’m not sure on that one. But I do send a text message first. It’s not like Rhya ever picks up the phone anyway. You saw how hard it was to get a hold of her the other day. Took twenty-some calls before she called back. How do you think it’s going to go now?
We’re back to time.
It’s 8:09 p.m. and I’m sending her a message. Can you see me there? The one visibly swallowing over bile, the unnatural stiffness to his body causing his shoulders to shake with exertion. He’s losing it. He’s flinching at the sound of noises around him, unable, unwilling to lift his gaze.
Me: Where are you? Reece is trying to find you. The least you can do is call your brother.
Nothing. Three minutes. Someone beside me takes my phone from me. I say something to her. . . I don’t know what. My mind is numb, actions uncontrolled, and if I had to describe the feeling rooted inside of me, I’d say coming out of unconsciousness. The feeling when you first come to and everything around you is completely disoriented. I’m rooted in a haze of uncertainty.
8:12 p.m.
Me: Rhya, seriously. Goddamn it. Answer. ME. Or I’m calling the fucking police.
8:14 p.m.
Two minutes. My thoughts spin and I lift my eyes to the elevator doors. Around me people are talking but I hear none of it. Couldn’t even tell you who’s standing next to me, just that someone is and she’s clinging to my side. I don’t even remember bringing girls with us from the bar, but I want them gone. Now.
My phone dings, as do the elevator doors. They open with a swish, Tiller nudging me to exit. I don’t. Slowly my eyes drop to my phone, the bright screen dimmed by my sunglasses.
My breathing, it’s amplified, two quick breaths in, one long sigh out. Despite my death grip on my phone, I nearly drop it when I see she finally replied to my message. Then I read it and wish I hadn’t.
Rhya: I couldn’t save myself, but I can still save you. . . .