Not that I don’t deserve that.
I didn’t know who else to message… everyone I love is gone, and I’m alone. But I won’t bother you anymore. I hope you and your brother are safe. Thank you for being my friend.
That last message reads so much like a goodbye that I have to actively remind myself that she’s here, alive and kicking, despite being lost.
Or maybe because she’s lost.
Fuck, it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is she’s here, and maybe, just maybe, I have a chance to fix this, to be what she needs.
I pull her file out and check her phone number; it matches the one I have, and that’s all I need.
You never bothered me.
It doesn’t seem like nearly enough, not after so long, but I’m not sure what else to say, and as I sit staring at the screen, I worry that if I hesitate too much longer, I might just bitch out completely.
I hit enter before I can talk myself out of it, tossing the old phone down on my desk and rubbing a hand over my mouth.
No going back now, I suppose.
I sit watching the phone as if I expect a response right away, and I kind of do. She’s always been fast to reply, but I guess at this point I should be happy if she even reads it.
Letting it fall to the desk, I drop my face into my hands with a groan.
This is not what I thought my day would be.
The room smells of her, and now, with the connection open, I can feel every jumble of emotion that filters through her.
Including the attraction to, fuck knows who. I hate to admit it, but that one hurts.
Like, physically makes my chest ache.
She’s so much like the girl I met that night, but also nothing like her. She’s a woman now, and while she was crying then, she somehow seems sadder now.
Ugh, if only I weren’t such an idiot, then I could just message her the way I used to, and she would actually talk to me. Hell, I wouldn’t be asking what's wrong if I weren’t such an idiot; I would already know and could have helped her fix it. Once upona time, it had been easier to talk to her than to anyone else. Maybe if not for me, she wouldn’t look so sad.
I rub a hand down my face and let myself wallow for a moment more before I push back from the desk and move to the coffee pot. Not every office has one; mine hadn’t, but after so many long nights in here grading papers and lesson planning, it had become necessary.
Most everything I need is in here, from snacks and caffeine to a few backup pairs of clothes. I’ve passed out at this desk and had to rush to class more than a few times now.
Lesson learned.
I make it back to the desk and tuck in, trying to do anything productive, when pounding at the door has me jumping out of my skin, knocking said fresh coffee everywhere.
Fuck, is this karma?
“I know you're in there. It's your office hours!” Gavin shouts from the hall, and yeah, that makes sense, karma in the form of my annoying little brother.
Huffing a sigh, I don’t move from the chair, instead focusing on saving everything on my desk from the rapidly moving liquid as I look around for a way to clean this and come up empty-handed.
Shit.
“And your phone's location shows you're in there!” Gavin shouts, and I take a second to curse that stupid app I’d insisted he have. He doesn’t really remember our father and how bad he was; the need for me to keep tabs on him was silly in his eyes, but it kept me sane.
If today could tone it down a bit, that would be great.
Of course, I have no such luck, and my brother continues to pound away on the door as my sanity slips with every rap of his knuckles.
