Page 202 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

My brain spins out.

The first stop’s the obvious explanation:

This isn’t my Andrew’s phone.

This is their Andrew’s phone.

The yeah-sure-I’ll-text-you number.

The late-night,

I’m-hard-and-bored hotline.

The emergency-break-glass number

for when he’s out of options.

Probably No for the

never-wanna-touch-her-again.

Yes for the

wanna-round-two-with-that-pussy.

A number to keep the two lives separate.

A number from a life he swore off,

but apparently couldn’t quit.

Because it’s still charged.

Still ringing. Still with him. Why?

My finger hovers.

Half a second from digging deeper,

half a second from pretending I never saw it.

Either way, I hurt.

I drop it back into the bag.

It’s nothing. You’re overreacting.

But my hand still feels heavy.

Like the lie didn’t let go.

And then the song fades in.

“Every Breath You Take” crawling out from the jukebox in the corner, its guitar riff plucking, a heartbeat-drum lurking between, each repeating note clipped like Hunter’s footfalls stalking the darkest parts of my memories.

I’m paralyzed.

And I’m not in the pool hall anymore.