I press the phone harder to my cheek, eyes half-closed, breath hot and heavy.
“I miss you.”
Barely sound.
Barely breath.
“God, I miss you.”
My head falls forward.
More tears slip out.
“I wish you would… just…”
I swallow hard.
Voice a broken whisper. “…come back.”
I laugh again — breathless, destroyed.
“But you already did, didn’t you?”
I touch my swollen lip.
Shiver.
“And I didn’t stop you.”
The alcohol surges through me, making everything softer, darker, more dangerous.
“I want to see you.”
A gasp.
Too honest.
Too drunk.
“I want you to come back.” The last words barely make it past my lips..“Just don’t hate me anymore.”
The beep cuts me off.
Voicemail ended.
Silence fills all the places the alcohol didn’t.
I stare at the phone in my lap, chest heaving, heart cracked open wide enough for him to crawl right back inside.
The locket swings gently against my skin.
And before the fear can catch up to me—Before I can regret any of it—Before I can breathe—My phone lights up.
Unknown Number
1 New Voicemail
My body goes cold.
