It was 2 in the morning when I decided to make a call.
Your number was still in my phone even though I’d told you to lose mine. I remember staring at it for a long time, at the dumb emoticons next to your name, or the silly face you’d made for your picture. It was from a time long before now.
For some reason I called, and all the sudden it was ringing, and before I knew it, you’d picked up. “Hello?” My breath hitched at the sound of your voice, at how it was husky like it always was when you first woke up.
I didn’t respond, but then there was a brief moment where there was a sound like rustling sheets, and I knew that you’d sat up straight and you must’ve looked at the caller ID. You called my name into the phone, one word with so many different emotions. And still, I couldn’t respond.
A tear had slipped down my cheek as you repeated my name a few more times, and asked for me to speak on the other side of this call, but I couldn’t, still stuck in a daze.
But then there was the sound of another human being with you, the sleepy grumble of a girl who you obviously spent the night with. The spell broke, my chest tightened, and all the sudden the call was done.
You’d made your choice clear, and I wasn’t a part of it.
— Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #2