t w e n t y - f i v e || mishaps

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Sometime time whizzes by so fast that it feels almost nonexistent. Seconds merging into minutes, minutes turning into hours, and before anyone realizes it, hours turn into days.

When Liam glances at the calendar perched on his wooden desk, he realizes that it's been almost twenty-one days since he's talked to Nessa. Twenty-one days is also equivalent to three weeks, 504 hours, 30,240 minutes, and 1,814,400 seconds.

1,814,400 seconds.

It's taken him over a million seconds to realize that he misses Nessa, her voice now only lingering in his head. Their friendship—or whatever they had—is hanging by a thread, and he can feel the blade of the scissors threatening to cut all ties.

Liam's lost track of how many times he's called over the past couple of days, his phone bill only getting thicker and thicker. His friends are starting to wonder where most of his paycheck is going. Vy's starting to notice his change in behavior, but she hasn't garnered enough courage to say anything because she thinks he's still trying to get over Delilah. She doesn't know how wrong she is yet.

It's 9:55, and Liam should be getting ready to see a midnight premiere of a Marvel movie with Vy, but he's cemented at the edge of his bed. His fingers hover over the keypad of his phone. The number to AskAway's relationship hotline is practically engraved onto his forehead, the seven digits written in red ink with flashing lights.

Even though no one's picked up for the past three weeks, Liam still enters in the number when his watch beeps at the turn of the hour. The spark of hope in his heart is still burning, but the flame is starting to diminish. He can't see it, but he feels it.

The phone continues to ring.

It's killing him.

Then, his prayers are answered.

"Finally," Liam mutters under his breath in relief when he hears crackling on the other side, a sign that the call has begun and he's not going to be interrupted by a voicemail message for the nth time. "Thank God."

He inhales sharply, taking a deep breath. He's intent on not wasting a single second. Too many seconds have passed, 1,814,400 to be exact.

"Before you say anything, Nessa, I need to get this off my chest because it's been three weeks, and that's too long to hold something in. And yes, I've been keeping track of the days."

He throws in a laugh, adding some comical relief to the situation.

"I know I should've called you when I promised, and I'm so sorry. I don't even have a good excuse planned to explain myself. Three weeks to figure out something and all I can really tell you is that I forgot. I fucking forgot."

Liam sighs. "I've memorized 100 digits of pi before and I forgot to call you back. What does that say about me?"

He's waiting for Nessa to make some witty comment, to say that memorizing and reciting 100 digits of pi makes him the epitome of an engineering nerd. She wouldn't be wrong. He's pretty proud of that feat.

He wants to hear her voice, but she doesn't say anything. There's just silence, and it's starting to feel like he's talking to himself.

"Well, it says that I'm a horrible friend," Liam answer the question for himself. "That's what we are, right? Friends?"

There's no response on the other end of the line, only the sounds of light breaths pushing air and pulling air into the body.

"I hope we're friends because if I'm going to be honest with you, Nessa, I didn't always call because I had relationship problems. Some days I just called because I wanted to talk to you, to talk to a friend. I knew you'd make me feel better.

"Oh God, I rambled again, didn't I? Damnit," he curses, "What I'm really trying to say is . . ."

All the words he wants to say somehow escape him, and he's forced to pause for a moment.

"What I'm really trying to say is I miss our phone calls, our arguments over pizza, the song lyrics we belch to each other. But what I miss most is you. I just really miss you."

There's a silence after he finishes speaking, and Liam swears his heart has stopped beating twice already.

"Nessa, please say something," he practically begs. "Please. Just tell me you hate my guts and never want to talk to me again or something. Anything."

He's met with silence again.

"Um . . . I don't know how to tell you this, but this is Cynthia. And I'm afraid this has become very awkward."

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