The State of Broken Things

Where It All Went Wrong

Where It All Went Wrong

12 hours.

I've had many a moment where I wished time would just move faster. If you're in a really boring class right before lunch, or the last period before a long overdue vacation. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours.

Or when you're dreading something. The next day, you have a test that you've been studying for and you just know that you're going to fail, a meeting with someone that you know is going to be slow and painful. Then it comes all too quickly, and you want more time.

You want it to go faster, it slows. You want it to move slow, it speeds up.

Of course, I'm aware that scientifically, time is consistent and can't actually change. But every now and then, it really feels like something is purposefully slowing down or speeding up, going against me to try and make whatever situation I'm in as bad as possible.

I guess that's all part of wanting things you can't have. As soon as it's hot, you want it to be colder, but then it's freezing and all you're hoping for is some sun. When you don't have it, you're dying for it.

12 hours, and I'm dying for him.

I've probably taken at least ten showers in that time, feeling bad about wasting water but everything about me just feels dirty. Something is crawling right under my skin, planted there and if I scrub hard enough maybe - maybe - I can get it off.

I'm so angry with Katrina I can feel it, physically, everywhere. It almost burns, sitting just beneath the surface of my skin. She knew. She knew perfectly well that I was good. I was happy with him. We argue, we have misunderstandings, but I love him with everything in me.

He's it for me.

And now I don't know if I've lost him.

I've called him four times. Left him a voicemail two of those times. Texted six times, and I know Addie's tried to get in touch with him, too, with no avail. And I've done nothing but sit there, stare at my phone, heart catching in my throat it rings.

It's not Adrian.

Over and over again, it's not him.

Through the night, I barely slept at all. My phone's ringer was on the loudest setting and most annoying ringtone possible, and I still didn't want to sleep in case he calls me. As soon as I fall asleep, I jerk awake, picking my phone up to check the notifications bar that was always empty. He never goes to sleep early. When we took our trip up to Canada, he would always be awake until 1 or 2, before I finally managed to get him to lay down with me, and then it would take even longer before he would actually fall asleep. I don't know if it's the nightmares, or maybe even insomnia, but he's always ended up going to sleep super late and being ready before I'd even wake up.

He's also, generally, just more impulsive when he's tired and not thinking straight. So he'd actually be more likely to call me in the middle of the night. Adrian gets grumpy when he's tired, but at this point, I don't care what he says to me. I just want him to say something. Anything, at this point, would be better than the deafening radio silence I've been getting from him.

I've worked my way through almost every emotion there is. At first, I was confused, and then I was frustrated and then I was angry. Then this overwhelming feeling of grief and loss and sadness, what I thought to be the peak of whatever this was.

But then I felt empty.

And that was worse.

It's the morning after the day where it all went wrong. Leaning against the kitchen counter, my arms crossed in front of me, I can't bring myself to look away from the window. To see if he's going to come for me, if he'll still be here to take us to school like he always does.