Work Text:
I try to ring him one more time.
Just one more time.
And I’ve said that about 50 times.
I hold the phone in my hand. Hearing the dialing tone echo across my apartment. That was the only response I got. Eventually, I tear myself away and go lie down on the sofa. Maybe he will ring me back? Maybe he does like me…a little? My stomach turns cold as if a cement block was dropped in it. The same feeling I had as soon as I saw the confusion in his eyes. I realize I lied to myself as soon as I said it.
The dial tone ends leaving me with silence.
Courtney was out late again. Likely having an affair with Patrick. Yes….I know about the affair. I’ve known for a while now.
A knife twists in my stomach cold and unfeeling. Like Patrick.
I’ve always tried to be nice to him. Hoping that maybe one day he would look at me in the same way. I always helped him out with extra work when needed. But, it was all in vain. He probably hates me now anyway. What if he spreads my feelings around? He wouldn’t do that. No. No. He wouldn’t.
More lies. I get up to ring him one more time. Now the phone doesn’t even ring. Cut off imediately. Call declined. I put the phone down on the reciever. And start to pace. What do I do at work tomorrow? Should I just pretend none of this happened?
One question still lingers in my mind, and I’ve been trying to not think of it because I dislike the implications. Why? What was he doing in the bathroom? Why did he place his hands so close to my neck. I can still feel them. The ghosts of them. Cold. Cold. Cold.
It was to strangle me. But he wouldn’t do that. No of course he wouldn’t. He’s a prick…yes. But not a murderer. I’m sure he’s not a murderer.
More lies.
He was going to kill me. I know it.
…
I remember fixing my bowtie in the bathroom humming a small tune to myself. And then he walked in behind me. I thought nothing of it. Maybe he needed the mirror his hair was a little dishevelled, and he was such a perfectionist. Yet, I remember the coldness gripping my gut when I walked in. I knew something was wrong I was brushing it off though. Like I always did when it came to him. Then his hands reached towards my neck…like snakes slithering towards the kill. But…I at the same time felt a small flicker of hope. Perhaps….perhaps. I took that chance. His expression changed in an instant. But, I pursued like a fool with a dream. He walked off. I ran after him. Feeling hurt wring my throat. I called after him one last desperate attempt for him to look at me. And him washing his hands. Thats when I figured out he didn’t like me at all.
….
I hold my hands to my head. The emptiness weighing on me. Yet…after all this I still love him. He can be so awfully charismatic. That smile. His eyes. But, that could be fake. It is fake. I saw what was truly behind the eyes. And it was coldness, emptyness and darkness that mirrors an arctic night.
Why? Why do I love him….why would he want to kill me? I’m scared and fear is twisting my neck. I’m trapped.
I start to pace through my apartment. My footsteps a solitary sound.