I Told The Stars About You

Detoxication

-Andrew-

I haven't talked to him. It's been weeks, I don't know how many but I know it's been long. I haven't been eating much, almost like a diet, a stupid type of diet you find in a website that requires you to drink iced water and eat air. I am so hungry, I am starving. I don't know what I am hungry for, perhaps his touch and voice and the way he would count the stars with me on the field. I feel so helpless, so weak. But at the same time I want him to see me helpless and weak, and for him to feel a little guilty, even if it's just the slightest of guilt.

I want him to feel pity for me, though I know I don't have the greatest reason to want pity. Maybe I just want attention, his attention again. Maybe I should talk to him, say something, maybe a "Hello" or "I miss you" or anything to bring him back to me. I wonder if he's gotten bored of me, if he's forgotten me.

Perhaps it's just my anxiety making me overthink stuff. Maybe Naomi was right and I should forget about this.

But doing this time off thing feels good, it was too much love too fast.

But it was good love, it was great love.

Right now I'm sitting at my desk, my computer is on, the light shining bright on my face, I'm reading about the reproductive system of goats. I can't imagine two goats fucking. It's a picture that doesn't appear in my mind set.

My phone is on top of my bed. I look at it maybe once or twice or three times. Perhaps if I think about it enough Dalton will think of me and send me a text. Or maybe call me. Maybe if I think about him enough, I'll manifest his attention successfully.

Should I call him? Is that a good decision? Calling Dalton and talking about I don't know what, just to have a conversation with him. Just to hear his voice.

I am so desperate for his attention that I went to the supermarket he works at in hopes of seeing him there. He wasn't there, I just bought a muffin. Muffins are good, muffins are my comfort.

I throw a peek at my phone once again, nothing. Perhaps I should call instead. To see how he's doing, to see if he's doing any better than me.

The opportunity is tempting, but I also want to save myself from embarrassment if he does not answer.

 The idea of calling someone in general scares me, or even someone calling me freaks me out. Why not do all the talking through text? What's the need of hearing each other's voices? Yet again I want to hear his voice, so I guess I fall in the deep end of fucking hating calls. Does he hate calls? I don't think he does. He probably doesn't, hating calls has the color of red, he is the color green. I really hope he doesn't hate calls, or my voice. Or me at the moment.

I give in to the sentiment of desperation. I roll all the way to my bed on my rolling chair. And grab my phone with slight shaking hands.

I turn it on and dial his number, his contact name still saved as "Dalton <3" but I don't think there's a reason to change it. The phone rings, my hand moves up the sleeve of my sweater to then pinch the skin of my forearm. I remember how he used to make me stop pinching myself by taking my hand and kissing my palm. I feel emotional even thinking about it.

The ringing stops, I hear shuffling, like bed sheets moving. Was he asleep? It isn't even 10 yet.

"Hello?" I heard his voice next, it was rough and tired, but it was also smooth like silk. I didn't answer, it wasn't because I didn't want to say anything, but I was frozen, I had forgotten what his tired voice sounded like. "Uh, hello? Andrew?" he says again.