Him: “So ... are you gonna do it, or what?” I opened my eyes to find Nadia’s auburn pair of her own staring back at me. I could only see her face as she lay on top of me. My body had grown accustomed to her weight; I, on the other hand, was not used to that one stare of hers and even now, I felt it burning into my soul.
“I’ll call him right now,” I said, half-assedly.
“You better,” she retorted, the sharp Chicago twang of her voice as prominent as ever. Surprisingly, she reached for my phone on the right-hand dresser and gently slammed it on my chest, looking at me imploringly. I rolled my eyes and took it. His picture was still my screensaver, I don’t know why I hadn’t changed it yet. He was well dressed, as usual, hands in his jeans pockets, eyes closed and a smile so wide that it was only rivaled by the love he had for me. I’m still not sure why I started seeing Nadia, but it happened, and I slowly fell out of love with Vale. It was complicated. Half-doubting myself, I found “Lover” in my phone directory and dialed the number, sighing deeply before I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hi Vale.”
“Oh, hi! I’m busy right now, but I can call you back in 10 minutes, is that okay…?” I ignored his question, and just got it over with.
“I’m breaking up with you.” I heard something like a glass bottle breaking, and I could hear nothing but silence.
Him: “I’m so sure that he forgot our 1-year anniversary, but it’s okay; I don’t care,” is what I thought. “I still love him.” I had spent the last hour or two shopping: a bottle of Franzia Sunset Blush that he liked, a pack of Parliaments that we both enjoyed smoking, and a pair of earrings modelled after a snake that I knew he’d love. He had those boring, plain, old ones ever since I met him two years ago. He wouldn’t look that excited when he saw them, but that was part of why I loved him—he was different. Sometimes I expected too much from him, but he always tolerated me, and I was grateful for that. I was grateful for him.
I was on my way home when my right jeans pocket vibrated. I backed away from the pedestrian crossing, reaching for my phone. It was rush hour, so the streets were busy. I just wanted to check to see if the call was an emergency or not. “Hello?” I said, ignoring the caller ID.
“Hi Vale.” I knew that voice better than anyone else.
“Oh, hi! I’m busy right now, but I can call you back in 10 minutes, is that okay?”
“I’m breaking up with you,” is what he replied, and as the bag slipped from my hand and the wine bottle broke, I fell speechless for a while.
Darlon Riviere - Staff Writer