Heal the Heart

31.

I leaned back in the rolly chair, almost breaking the support system and toppling backwards. It didn't break. But I wished it did. Maybe I could've hit my head against a corner and that would've talked me out of what I was about to do. On the other hand, I did spend a decent amount of money on this stupid office chair, thinking maybe a cosy seat was the secret to me studying more. Idiot. The only use it had so far was to get me dizzy after spinning round and round for too long.

I picked up my phone again, this time determined to go through with it. A two-hour stare at the ceiling was more than enough to get me to change my mind. The fact that I didn't—yet—was solid proof I was just procrastinating and not actively seeking any other options.

Beck's missed calls and texts littered my lock screen.

And his face was my lock screen.

Jesus, when did I even take this picture? His head was thrown back, an open smile as bright as the full moon, eyes closed, a beer can held up in cheers. He was perfect. And he deserved someone as perfect as him. I'd be damned if I didn't give my mind, body, and soul to be that someone.

I dialled Arya's number and waited. Every single brain cell of mine simultaneously burst into a million little confetti pieces, rendering me incapable of forming coherent thoughts. Questions flooded my scattered head. Did he even use this number anymore? What if he has moved on and doesn't want to hear from me? Was there even anything left to say? Was there anything left to salvage?

The ringing stopped, and I let out a breath of relief.

Breath of relief?

Great. So, I wanted this to fail from the beginning.

This was the part where an automated female voice would say the number was no longer in use, or the line was busy, or the phone was switched off, or any of the other countless lies these companies usually used.

Didn't happen.

I had to take back my breath of relief when I saw the calling mobile turn to a timer.

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I grabbed the phone and held it to my ear. "Hello. Hey, it's me. Neil."

Crackling. Distorted whispers. I waited to hear his voice for the first time in almost three years. "He—"

Actually, no, I didn't want to hear his voice. I was fucking terrified of what he'd have to say. "I know it's probably a surprise, and honestly, I wasn't expecting to be the first person to contact." I paused, running through what I just said in my confetti-filled skull. "Okay, that sounds super arrogant and condescending. In my defence, I wasn't the one who stormed off the last time we met, so..."

"Uh—"

"I think it just makes more sense if you called first, you know. Or texted. Or emailed. Or—Or—Or use that Snaptext thing people use these days. I don't fucking know. Something. But I can also understand why you didn't." I played with a stray paper clip on my desk, bending it this way and that. "I guess you've got bigger priorities now."

I was mixing up my words. This wasn't what I wanted to say. Not even remotely close. But the sync between my brain and mouth was utterly tarnished. I wasn't able to focus. My fingers were grabbing at whatever they could to anchor me to this plane. Now, I got why people wrote down what they wanted to say before they said it. Fuck. I should've done that. I should've made ten drafts and then another twenty revisions of each draft, and only then should I have been allowed to even touch a phone.

Or I could just let out whatever's been festering inside me for all these years. Arya's my best friend. If I didn't trauma dump on him, who else would?