"Yes?"
He almost hangs up before he caught himself, since he was expecting to be directed to voicemail, for what would have been probably the five thousand seven hundred and fourth time. Honestly, now that he finally got her to pick up, he really doesn't know what to say. Licking his lips for a moment, he realizes just how hard it was to string up a coherent sentence that would say everything he wanted to.
"If you're not going to talk, I may as well hang up."
He frowns slightly, something about Celia's tone was different. Colder, harder, as if she was blocking out everyone even more so than before. Before he got sent back to dial tone however, he speaks, even though his mouth seemed drier than ever.
"Wait. Celia... Please."
"You're saying please an awful lot."
"Y-You listened to my voicemails?"
"All forty billion of them, yes."
He's caught off-guard... again. He wasn't really sure why it should surprise him, he did leave those for her to hear after all. But somewhere inside, he had been expecting her to simply ignore and delete them. Part of him had only left so many voicemails for himself, more than for her.
"Oh..."
He bites his lower lip, not really sure what to say. It was impossible to ignore now, how contrasting her voice was now than before.
"If you only called me to know whether or not I listened to your voicemails, then I suppose that's it. If you don't have anything else to say, I'll be hanging up now."
"Wai-"
He was cut off by the dial tone. Slowly, and dejectedly, he lowers his cell phone and stares at the blank screen. He remains like this for a few more minutes before resigning to the fact that she wasn't going to call back, and he wouldn't be able to call again and have her pick up. In a sluggish manner, he walks over to his bed and lays down. "Might as well try to sleep," he thinks, "It is almost three thirty in the morning after all."
In another house, Celia sighs heavily, tossing her phone onto her bed and away from her so she wouldn't be tempted to dial his number. She couldn't, not if she didn't want to give in and tell him everything. And that was definitely out of the question. So she turns back to the math homework she had procrastinated on and starts to solve another question. She had plenty of free time earlier, but Celia knew she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, so might as well keep something to do. After finishing it like a breeze, she closes her eyes momentarily and leans back, thinking of what she had done and wondering if she'll regret it or not.
"I'm sorry," she whispers to herself, "I don't think I can give you what you want."
YOU ARE READING
Three Seventeen || Completed
Short Story"Each night she lies awake in bed, Blaming insomnia. But in truth it really is, Her restless thoughts instead." A phone call. A boy. A life changed. --- entry for @vinyl-'s one-shot competition (although mine's more of a short story oops)
