A tear dropped onto the page and began drawing ink from the word “communicate.” He tried rubbing it off, but only succeeded in smudging it further. As if the distorting of the word worked as a catalyst of realisation, he jumped off his bed and grabbed his mobile phone which was quietly charging in the corner of his room.
He was searching frantically for her phone number, looking under contacts, in his sent and received messages.. nothing. In an attempt to help with the healing process he had deleted all forms of contact he had with her, phone numbers, email addresses.. out of sight, out of mind. All that remained of her in his life were a few photos and the memories in his head and heart.
He had realised that the last thing he had said to her was that he hated her.. well.. it was the last thing apart from calling her a bitch and telling her he wished she was dead. But the point was the last thing he had said to her was a lie.
Somewhere in his mind he believed that apologising was the answer. He thought that if it didn’t win her back, then the least it would do would be to give him peace of mind. Peace of mind knowing that he had he tried to make things right.
He ran down his stairs and began to put on his duffle coat. He decided that if he couldn’t get hold of her by phone or email then he’d talk to her in person…if she would see him. At that moment a strong feeling of doubt came across him, would she actually want to see him?
