One Last Time

Hey, how are you?

She sent me a text.

I had been expecting it. It had been a while.

I’m just fine, I guess. Nothing good, nothing bad. Just fine, I replied.

Oh, I know those words. You’re already planning how to cope if I leave. Why do you always overthink things?

She was hauntingly accurate when it came to reading my feelings.

It’s better to be prepared, I thought. That’s what always happens, isn’t it? People leave. It wasn’t that I was perfect—I had made my fair share of mistakes—but I wasn’t someone who had done nothing wrong either. Maybe they just felt trapped. Maybe I was the problem. But it’s just a hypothetical.

And you think I’ll leave? she asked.

Everyone does. And it won’t change. The words came out before I could stop them. That’s what I’m afraid of. That it’ll happen over and over again until there’s nothing left of me but a hollow shell.

Oh. Do you really think that of me? That I’d leave just because everyone else did?

And then, the phone rang.

She had never called me before. I stared at her contact picture, hesitating. Will it hurt to believe just one more time?

I’m not mad at you. Just pick up the phone. Her text came through, and then it rang again.

This time, I answered.

Hi, I said.

It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve both been through a lot alone. But now, we can figure things out together.

Her voice was calm, steady.

You should take your own advice sometimes. You need it, she added.

I let myself sink into the strange comfort of her voice. I could have said anything, but at that moment, words didn’t matter.

Yeah. Just once more.

I would try.