Twisted

22: Phone Call

Beverly

It is a Thursday evening and the only thing that has been on my mind since returning from work about three hours ago is to call him. It's been more than a week since we texted and I remember wanting to call him almost immediately but abeg, a girl has got to front small.

Soaking naked in the bathtub filled with warm water and lather, I have my phone over my ear with my heart racing as I put a call through.

Ring ring ring...

I will only call once, if he doesn't answer, I won't call again– "Hello," A familiar voice answers but it's not him, it's a woman. Immediately, I freeze. "Hello?" The voice repeats with confusion laced in her tone.

I'm quiet, scared that if I do as much as breathe, she'll realize it's me—the woman from the store.

I hear a bit of rustling, and soon his voice comes on. "Babe, that could be work. Don't be out here taking my calls. It's unprofessional– Is it still on?"

"Since when is work an unknown nu–" Her voice and question are cut off as it fades into the background.

A door shut and I cease to hear her.

"Eniola?" He calls, and my heart skips a beat.

I don't know if it's the familiarity in his voice or the way he says my middle name like it was made for him but I don't have any idea how or what to say because my tongue seems to be tied, so I do a very silly thing... I end the call.

God, what am I doing? What am I fucking doing? I shouldn't be speaking to him let alone calling.

As feeble as this might be, I feel anxiety rising.

You know when you're doing something you shouldn't be doing? Nobody will beat you o, but you just know it's wrong? That is exactly how I curre– My phone starts ringing and it's him.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. A few deep breaths before I answer.

"Hey," he says, "it's fine. You can talk,"

His voice makes my stomach churn, somersault, and at the same knots into a thousand knots with tiny knots. It's chaotic and makes me want to throw up in this bathtub. The effect is still so strong, maybe even stronger.

"Eniola?" He calls, skeptical about whether it's me because he doesn't have my number saved.

"Hi," I manage to say.

"Hey," He replies, a sort of relief in his tone, "I'm in the study. You can talk, it's fine."

"How'd you know?"

"That it was you?"

"Mhmhmm,"

"Instincts," He answers and I imagine him shrugging. "How are you?"

"I'm okay,"

There's a pause.

A long one filled with tension. We're just there, listening to each other breathe. I do not know what to make of this but I do not want him to end the call.

"I am sorry that I hurt us," I blurt, shocking myself on this unplanned route I'm going down.

"Hmm,"

"I know I can never make up for it but I'm sorry that I kept you in the dark and did what I did. I want us to move past it and... I'm not saying forgive me now, you can um... take your time and do it at your own pace. Just please don't be mad at me."

My heart is racing, I don't know why I decided to go on an emotional ride, but I am quiet, awaiting his response.

Pause.