The Unblockable Number.

Emergency Contact

I got a call around 10:34 in the morning, as I woke up to my boyfriend rushing himself into my grip.

"Hello. You have been listed as an emergency contact for, Nicholas Blake. Due to this, we are required to inform you about his passing. He was wounded in an accident involving another patient and expired as a result of his injuries at around 12:28 yesterday afternoon. I am sorry for your loss." a robotic voice chimed into my right ear.

I placed the phone down carefully, and sprinted to the bathroom to alleviate the nausea that settled in my throat. Chris seemed to notice this, and patted my back while holding me from behind. It was moments like this that I was thankful that Grindr had paired us up. The nausea left as quickly as it entered, and with it went all my feelings of wanting to relapse, needing to relapse.

"You're okay. You're okay. I'm not going anywhere." His calm words always seemed to re-assure me when I'm in a mood like this.

Despite how much I wanted to shrivel up and just cry for the rest of the day, I had to conform to some sort of schedule. I grabbed my gym bag and threw it in the car. A towel, a spray can of deodorant and Chris's vest that I 'stole'.

After a few minutes of searching on the map, the car directed me to the densely packed gym, and I headed to the mens changing rooms that would either reek of Lynx Africa spray or sweaty men who had over-exerted themselves in a last-ditch effort to 'impress the ladies'. Either way, it was an unpleasant place to be in and I generally tried to avoid it as much as I could. The scars on my upper forearm began to shine out, almost like a light in a dark forest. Not a day goes by where I don't think about what led me to my breaking point, to something so painful yet so addicting.

I tortured myself for an hour with weights and a horrendous attempt at leg day, causing every tissue in my leg to commit suicide while I pressed the pedals. The key clicks to tell me the door is open, and I enter my home. A single A4 sheet of paper, neatly folded on the TV remote with a word on the outside in neat yet scruffy handwriting. 'Buck;'

"Hey babe, didn't want to bother you with a call so I figured I'd leave you a note instead. Work called me in (you can vent to me about it later, okay?) because they were severely understaffed, but I should be home by 1900. I'll cook dinner tonight as my apology.
Love you,
Chris."

That's weird, he'd rather quit than go to work on his day off.

Oh well.