AM

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

Trying not to fall over, Alex stumbled into the bathroom at the nightclub. He looked at his reflection and knew he should get home. But he wasn't finished yet - Arabella wasn't by his side. When he had arrived, he thought he saw her leaving, a pair of black heels in her hands. To be fair, she easily could've been another stunning girl who he painted as Arabella in his inebriated, slightly high imagination.

He made his way out of the bathroom and immediately pulled out his phone. It told him it was close to three in the morning. Arabella was probably awake and Alex was determined to get her with him. Throughout the night, he had already left her multiple missed calls as well as short texts. Just as he was about to slip his phone back into his pocket, it buzzed. Eyes wide, Alex read the notification. A text from Arabella.

Why'd you only call me when you're high?

Well, that wasn't quite fair. He typed back a nonsensical reply. He couldn't see where his fingers had typed through his drunken eyes. After he pressed send, he decided to go straight to her house. He knew where she lived and he was now determined to see her.

Alex nearly tripped onto the pavement as he left the club. It was dark, he noted, turning his phone on again. He sent Arabella another message, asking for the same favour.

I need a partner, he texted.

It didn't take long for Arabella to reply with another refusal. Desperate, he tried to think of a way to get her to listen as he dialled in her number to call. But his hazy mind only came up with bad ideas. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, so he continued making his way to her address.

It was exactly three o'clock, now, and Alex had already left her four missed calls. He was vaguely aware of how much he would regret this when he was sober again, but right now he was too preoccupied with trying to change Arabella's mind.

To his brief delight, she picked up. He poised himself to launch into some persuasive speech. But she ended that by repeating what she had said earlier.

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

When he didn't reply, Arabella hung up. Alex scoffed and put his phone away, slipping his cold hands into his jacket. He had just turned onto her street and was racking his brain to remember which number she lived at. Making a decision, Alex marched up to Number 9 and rapped on the door. When nobody opened the door, he peeked into the living room. Huh. He couldn't see Arabella inside.

"Where might you be?" he muttered.

He checked the time. Damn, time was ticking. He phoned Arabella again, going against his better judgement. For some reason, she answered the phone.

"Arabella-"

"I have to be up in the morning," she sighed, exasperated. "I was going to have an early night. You're starting to bore me. Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high, Alex?"

Alex knew when he'd been defeated.

"Sleep well," he murmured before hanging up.