The screen flares to life.
Maybe he missed the text?
Maybe he’s waiting for me to call?
The rationalizations my mind scrambles for are flimsy, transparently desperate.Calling him would be like ripping a bandage off.A quick pain, over in a second.But this silence, this uncertainty…
This is the real torture.
The kind that lasts.
My thumb trembles as it hovers over the green call icon.
Not answering my text is not exactly an invitation to call.
Don’t be pathetic.
But the need to know is too insistent.Before I can overthink it into paralysis, I hit CALL.
Lifting the phone to my ear, I hold my breath.
My heart beats so hard I can hear its echoes pounding in my head.I hear the connection.A brief pause.A couple of rings.Then it cuts off.
“You’ve reached Matthew Warren.I’m unavailable to take your call.Please leave a message.”
His voice is calm and professional.I can’t reconcile it with the man who held me so gently just days ago.
My stomach plummets.
I press END before the beep, my throat tight.
Unavailable.
The word hits like a brick.
He is choosing not to answer.
That’s it then.
He obviously doesn’t want to talk.
But even as I think it, a frantic, irrational voice whispers:Maybe he didn’t see the caller ID?Maybe he’s busy?
Just try one more time, quickly!
It’s the voice of desperation.The voice I hate.The one that clings when it should let go.
Against every shred of better judgment, fueled by that awful mix of hope and dread, my thumb hits REDIAL.
“You’ve reached Matthew Warren.I’m unavailable—”
I snatch the phone away from my ear as if burned, hitting END with unnecessary force.
His message is crystal clear.
The shield is up.
The door that felt slammed shut yesterday is now dead-bolted from his side.
