Enduring

13

"Okay, hear me out," Cal blurts into the mouthpiece. He crumples his pre-written script into a crinkled ball, tossing it onto the floor. "I fucking miss you-" He shakes his head, huffing, tries again.

"No. I can't stop thinking about you. All of my time is spent trying to be busy enough not to think of you, or wondering if you're alright, or wishing I could just call you up, and- I miss you. And I want to know how you are, and what you're feeling. I want to try again." He takes a deep breath of the silence from the other end, breathes it out through quaking lips. "And, you know, maybe that ain't what's best and we should cut our losses, but... Fuck it, Sey, I love you. And it hurts not to have you around, and it hurts to know you're hurting, and it hurts that I haven't seen you in a week and I have no idea if you're eating or not-

"I'm sorry that I walked away from you. Part of me was hoping that it would jar you into realizing that you loved me, or maybe that you cared if I left. Obviously that didn't work, and it was childish of me to try. I just. We need to talk about this, okay? We need to figure it out. And I'm coming over later on..."

Cal stares at the darkened screen of his phone, a dejected sigh fogging the screen protector. His house creaks with the wind; a fierce storm is brewing.

If only he could get the courage to actually dial the number.

***

My doorbell chimes through the nearly silent home. It slices right through the distant mumbling of whatever cooking show is on, and I look up.

My hair is still damp from the shower, bundled on top top of the blanket I'm cuddled inside to try to watch tv. With a heavy sigh, I haul myself up from the couch and stumble my wobbly way to the door.

I've begun taking better care of myself, washing more regularly, trying to regain interest in some of the things I usually like. Kevin also threatened to "do something drastic" if I didn't get my butt into gear soon, which was fair. I've gotten into a better, less gloomy place, but I've been missing that boy ever since he walked out of my apartment. I should apologize.

Rubbing my eyes, a tad fatigued from watching three and a half hours of Good Eats with no breaks, I pull open the door.

Cal stands, dripping a little from the rain, toting a bag and avoiding eye contact. "Uh. Hi."

What. What the hell? What the HELL is he doing here? Is this good? Is it bad? Does he want his sweater back? What do I do? Say something!

"I know you want your sweater back, but I'm honestly not ready to return it, if that's okay." Alright, not the worst that might have happened. I'll call it decent, even though it was a shit show.

Cal blinks, then smiles, a bit soggy and downtrodden, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm not here for my sweater, love." Love. LOVE what the f- "May I come in?"

"O-oh, yeah, sure." I step aside, try not to take note of Cal's cologne, pretending I haven't been waiting for him to walk in for three weeks, and shut the door behind him. Be vigilant and watchful, and make no assumptions. He might want something.

"So, a storm is coming in, and I thought of you, because I know you hate thunderstorms, and this one's gonna be a real rattler, so, uh. Here." The bag is shoved into my hands, slick and chilly, heavier than I expected.