Alone [manxman]

eleven:: when you're tired of the missed calls.

[Time by Mac Miller and Kali Uchis]

[soft] TRIGGER WARNING: VERY VERY VERY BREIF MENTIONS OF SELF HARM/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.

ELEVEN: when you're tired of the missed calls.

I couldn't get ahold of him until the morning, I'd spent the night worrying about where he was when my calls wouldn't even go through and I would've been panicked. I would've been so scared if I didn't think to check Isaiah's social media, luckily his was public as well.

I'd shuffled through all twenty posts in his story, not caring about the fact that he'd see that I'd watched it, he'd think I was stalking Paul or something, maybe stalking him but honestly, I was. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Isaiah had a picture last posted that somewhat calmed me, him in the interior of an apartment I'd recognized, dancing to a song I didn't. When he'd turned, I'd caught a glimpse of Paul in the background, sipping something, that had been posted a few hours before his text.

I told myself not to worry, told myself that worrying would do nothing but hurt me in the long run since I was so far away from him anyways. In the midst of stressing, I'd said a prayer and let exhaustion take me. That was the first time I'd prayed in a year.

When I woke up, it was to my phone ringing, a few messages on the screen and instantly I'd answered. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I didn't think about classes, I didn't think about practice, I didn't care about anything but making sure he was okay so when his soft voice rang through, him talking about something I wasn't even trying to hear, I sighed in relief.

And it felt like I'd released a breath I'd been holding all night.

"Paul?"

He was rushing, stumbling over words and his voice was still quiet and raspy. I'd pictured him still laying in his bed, phone pressed to his ear and an arm thrown over his face in that embarrassed way he always did. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to send that at all and I know you probably hate me and I'm sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking-"

"Are you okay?" That was the only thing I cared about, making sure he was fine and saying anything more would stretch this out longer than it needed to be.

For some reason, after relief had settled in, anger had risen and I wasn't sure who I was more mad at, him or myself. I nearly felt my blood boiling at the idea that he really drunk texted me and a part of me still believed it... that he was drunk when he was the last person who should have been and he knew that I knew his history with alcohol. Paul really had the fucking nerve to text me of all people because he was fucked up and couldn't control himself and still I fell for it.

I still fell for it.

"Yes." Maybe anger was better, that had to mean I was getting through something at least. That had to mean I was over him and all these games, at least starting the stages of grief because I had no right to still be grieving. Because he made it clear that he didn't want me and this was just cruel. "Julian, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have sent it, I just-I was really drunk and-"

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." I felt bad cutting him off, I did, especially when he sounded so upset with himself. He really let himself get wasted. "You were drunk."

Above all, my resentment stemmed from the fact that him drinking felt nearly spiteful. I was finally moving on so he did the one thing that he knew would pull me back, I convinced myself of this although it was illogical, Paul wasn't that person and I knew it. But why the hell would he text me of all people? Why would he do that to me? Have me worried out of my fucking mind and helpless, he knew I was going to fall for it.