Page 95 of The Art of Drowning

Everything was the same, but it felt like somehow I wasn’t. Like I was the wrong shape to fit into this life now. Like I’d shrunk and there was too much empty space around me, but I didn’t know how to fill it up. The closest I got was the single text message I got every morning.

That night, a text from Callum came through. This time there were no words, it was just a picture of a take-out meal from that Thai place we’d ordered from when I was there. And I couldn’t help but respond to him. I’d told myself every day that I wouldn’t, that I’d keep not texting back and eventually he’d leave me alone.

I could eat so many noodles right about now, I texted him, then turned my phone off and leaned back in my recliner. I’d been staring at the television for an hour without registering what was on. I didn’t want to sit in the silence, so when I was home, I often had the TV on or music playing.

An hour later, maybe less, there was a knock on my door. Confused, I got to my feet and went to the front door. The peephole revealed nothing but a car pulling away. Had someone ding-dong-ditched me?

I pulled the door open and, at first, saw nothing. Then I looked down and saw a brown paper bag on my step. Curious, I picked it up and was immediately hit with the smell of fresh Thai food.

Callum.

That fucker.

I took the food to the living room and tore into it, taking every container out of the bag before turning my phone back on.

He hadn’t known where I lived before, but he’d been able to track me down. This part should make me uneasy, but I wasn’t. I’d railed at Callum about not knowing anything about me, about not caring. And clearly he’d heard that because he remembered what cake I liked the best and what song I wanted to hear and he’d found where I lived.

It made me wonder what else he’d found out. And how.

I sent a text to Bowie with a picture of my dinner. Callum sent me dinner. Care to explain how he got my home address?

Bowie sent back an emoji with a zipper for a mouth.

Asshole.

I ate the Pad Thai before I got up the nerve to text Callum back.

Thank you for dinner. There, it was succinct and to the point.

Callum didn’t text back right away, which I sort of hated. God, I was so needy it made me cringe.

Maybe we can eat together next time

Next time. I knew Callum hadn’t given up on me, but seeing those words made it impossible for me to not smile at my phone like some teenager who just found out their crush was requited after all.

Next time implied we’d see each other again.

I hated that I wanted that. After all this time, I still wanted him. I’d never be rid of him. Not that I wanted to be. I’d missed him every second we were apart and being close again only made it worse this time.

His presence had scraped all my old wounds raw, but it was also putting me back together. Another text came through, and I smiled again, because this was starting to feel dangerously close to a conversation.

How was the Pad Thai?

It was a simple question, but I felt the weight of what was behind it.

Lovely

I’m glad

Thank you. You didn’t have to.

I wanted to.

I thought of replying again but was hesitant to bite off more than I wanted to chew at the moment. So I cut him short.

Goodnight, Callum. Sleep well.

You too, Damien.