Work Text:
I got your message last night around 1:00.
I open my phone, aching fingers gripping the broken case while tears streamed down my face. I choke a sob, seeing a notification from "Ads! 🥳". I never changed his contact name.
You're getting married, and you want me to come
I read the message with a hiccup, tears blurring the message of Adam inviting me to his and Evelin's wedding. Something in my chest ached, like someone was squeezing it inside my ribs.
You miss me a lot, and the wedding's next month
I don't know what to type, setting the phone down on my pillow and staring at my shitty apartment's walls. I didn't have much after I left BPS, still having to be undercover while finding a stable job. I pick up my phone again, realizing the grammer errors in his message.
I think you were drunk, you spelt "wedding" wrong
The thought makes something deep inside the pit of stomach snap, tears flowing like a river and my hair a mess. I don't hold back anymore, phone still in my hands as I wail and sob into my pillow.
I used to break wishbones and pray that you liked me,
I remember all the moments me and him shared, all the laughs and drugs. Tense moments we had when we almost kissed, when I went to his sport's games that he hated.
And went to away games to pretend I liked fighting
I bit my knuckles to prevent a scream from coming out. All of the memories give me a headache, my body curling in on itself as I sob harder.
You'd scan the crowd with my face in your eyes,
I remember his baby blue eyes. The way they softened when they looked at me, how he looked at me like I had every answer in the universe he could ever want. Or I thought. I wish I could see those eyes in person again.
Maybe I was in love, or you were just nice
But then I think about it, why would he invite me? Was I on his mind, but only when he was drunk? Did he really care? I spiral as I wonder if he still thinks of me, and my dyed hair, my laugh, every part he used to love. Were those words ever real?
Mmm, a rush kinda like the old times. After all these years, I still cross your mind
I dwell on it a bit more. Tears are still streaming down in heavy globs of salt down my face, re-reading the message over and over again.
Or maybe you'd reach out just to be nice
I clutch my chest at that thought, my brown eyes swelling with more tears than I thought possible. Everything he said to me, all those sweet whispers he used to reassure me with.
Then why'd you invite me in the middle of the night?
My fingers hover over my keyboard, shaking like leaves in the wind. The pit in my stomach only grows, sloshing like poision. I don't know what to say. I'm stuck. My lip tucks pathetically into my mouth as I stifle more pitying cries.
I'll never know why
I go to his contact information, the little note I left on his number hitting me in the face. It was all the things he used to like. I ignore it and scroll,
Cause I'll never reply
I draw a bit of my blood from my lip, biting so hard the skin feels tender. I hover over the block button, wondering if I should actually do it. Maybe I'm a pussy. That's why I'm quivering and sobbing like no tomorrow.
So you can stay nice
I press the button, click yes, and set my phone down. The silence is deafening, besides quiet crickets outside my apartment.
In the back of my mind
I bawl my eyes out that night, blankets not enough to cover the grief that settles in my stomach. My body feels so heavy, like an anvil is sitting on top of me. I grieve over someone not dead, love spilling out of every orafice I had. I never got to give it.
I'm sorry, Adam.