𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 ★ pedri gonzález

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙚, pedri

❝ the lips i used to call home. ❞
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Who the fuck is calling me at two in the morning? I groan as I turn in my bed and reach for my phone, planning on hanging up. I really need my sleep.

Grabbing it, I almost let it fall to the ground but immediately catch it. I'm about to press mute, until I read the name that's on my screen.

I sit up in my bed, and hit the answer button. "Olive? Are you okay?" I answer, worriedly. She would never call me this late at night for no reason. She wouldn't even call me at all.

"Pedri?" Her soft voice, echoes in my ear. She sounds confused, as if she didn't mean to call me. Yeah, probably the most relevant explanation.

"Yes, aceituna?" I continue, just incase she is in danger or anything else making her uncomfortable.

I hear a soft sob, with someone talking in the background. Does she have people over at this hour? What the hell is going on?

She doesn't speak for a while but I don't hang up. I start getting more and more frustrated. I think the background sounds might just be the tv.

But the weeping noises are different. They're coming from her. "I miss you." My heart actually drops in my chest, hearing those simple three words.

It's two in the morning. And Olive just called to say she misses me? There's no way.

"Olive..." I try to find an explanation in my head as I call out her name, wanting to understand what's wrong.

"Of course you don't miss me..." She sniffles, chuckling in pain. "Goodbye, Pedri." She wants to hang up but I immediately stop her when I realize what might be going on.

"Liv!" I stop her before she presses the red button. I don't hear her voice answering but still am able to hear the sounds from her side of the line. "Are you drunk?" I ask.

"No." She answers quite quickly, a tone of guiltiness in her voice. She is. There's no other explanation.

"Where are you? Home?"

"None of your business. Goodbye. Sorry I called you." Her irritation is clear but the sound of her running nose too.

I throw the blanket off me, now that I'm sure she's drunk. It's definitely not safe for her to be drunk and alone. She already has a twisted wrist.

I put on my slides, trying to keep her with me on the other side of the line. "Olive!" I basically yell, for her to not leave me.

"What?" She's angry yet she's crying at the same time.

"Are you home or not?" I insist. I get out of my bedroom and head downstairs in a rush.

"I'm at my house if that's what you mean." Of course that's what I mean. What else would it mean?

I grab the keys to my car from the table next to the door as I open the door to leave. "What's the difference?" I question to prolong the conversation, not wanting to leave her alone.

I don't know if I'm overreacting or not. Most drunk people spend their evening alone. But it's definitely not safe. Especially that she's hurt. I could never live with myself if something happened to her while I knew I could've stepped in.