Relapse (Phan)

FOUR

"Hey, Pal-"

"Oh God!" Paloma jumped at the sound of my voice, causing most of the stack of records had been holding to hit the floor with a loud smack. "You scared me to death!" she breathed. I chuckled, crossing to help pick up the dropped vinyl.

"Sorry," I laughed.

"I wasn't expecting you yet," she said, watching as I picked up the mess, restacking the records and handing them to her.

"Really?" I ruffled my brow, "I thought I was scheduled to come in at 10 and it's 10:01 so-"

"Yeah well," she interrupted, "You're usually a little more than a minute late." She shot me a look, "What's gotten into you then?"

"Nothing," I replied, raising my eyebrows.

"Mhm," she squinted at me skeptically, "If you say so."

"I do," I laughed, causing her to shoot another skeptical look my way. "What?"

"Awful cheerful this morning," she observed.

"Sorry I didn't realize I had to be a manic depressive all the time," I laughed, pushing my fringe into my eyes, "Better?"

"Definitely," she said, rolling her eyes at me, "Did you have a good weekend at home then?"

"It was pretty good," I shrugged, "Caught up with a lot of old friends."

"What about the boy?" she asked with a knowing look in her eye.

"I dunno," I confessed, flicking through a crate of records to distract myself.

"Didn't work out, huh?" she asked, sympathetically.

"He's just-he wasn't what I remembered," I said, trying to shrug it off.

"Well people usually aren't," she said, "But since it didn't work out, you'll probably be less annoyed at what I did this weekend."

"Oh God, what?" I asked, glaring at her from across the room.

"That guy came in again," she said with as guilty smile, "Jason."

"Yeah, the one I was a dick to, go on," I laughed awkwardly.

"You were a dick to him," she agreed, "Anyway, I kinda told him that you wanted to go out with him sometime."

"As if he would actually believe that," I laughed, "I literally blew him off."

"Well yeah, that's what he said, but I, uh, I kinda told him that you were just having a bad week because your dog died."

"You what?" I cried, laughing hysterically. "Did he actually believe that?"

"Yeah," she giggled, "He left his number and told me to have you ring him sometime this week. I think you should."

"Yeah," I said, thinking it over for a minute. "Yeah, I think I will."

"Um, here I wrote it down-uh, somewhere," Paloma said, digging through old receipts and papers on behind the counter. "Here," she said, producing half of a receipt with a phone number scrawled on it in sloppy black ink.

"Thanks," I said, staring at it a minute before tucking it in my back pocket.

After work, I said a quick goodbye to Paloma before stepping out into the crisp October air. I pulled my sleeves over my hands, flipping the hood of my jacket up to protect me from the biting wind. When I was a considerable distance from the record store, I took my phone and the phone number out of my pocket, dialing quickly, before I changed my mind.

"Hello?" he picked up on the third ring.

"Uh, hey, is this Jason?" My voice cracked. Of course.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"This is Phil, uh, the guy from the record store," I said.

"Oh, hi!" I could almost hear him smiling through the phone.

"I'm sorry about how I acted the other day," I said, biting my lip.

"No, don't worry about it!" he said, "Paloma told me about your dog. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Right, my dog," I desperately tried not to laugh, "It's okay. I'm, erm, fine now. I was just wondering if your offer was still on the table. About the coffee?"

"Yeah!" he sounded like he had about as many butterflies as I did as he said, "I'm free Thursday night."

"Me t-" I was cut off as my phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. Weird. No one ever called me. I checked the screen.

Incoming call from: Dan.

"Not this time," I muttered under my breath, screening the call and returning my attention to the boy on the line.

"What did you say?" Jason asked.

"Sorry, I was just going to say I'm free Thursday night too," I grinned, "I work 'til 7."

"Cool, I can meet you at the record store if you want," he offered, "I know this local place not too far from there that's really good."

"Sounds great," I smiled.

"Okay, cool. I'll see you then?" he asked.

"For sure," I said, "See you then."

"Bye!"

I smiled as I hung up, nearly skipping the rest of the way to my apartment.

"Hello?" I called as I swung the door open and flicked on the lights. I wasn't expecting anyone, but with me you can never be too careful. I'd more than once had to change the locks after, in a drunken stupor, giving random one-night stands my spare key. Luckily today was not a day for lock changing as I kicked off my shoes and entered my empty apartment.

"God you're a mess," I said to myself, crossing through the tiny kitchen to my bedroom. It was true: I was a mess, a fact I decided to change, throwing my jacket on my bed and crossing back to the messy kitchen.

It took me a couple hours of singing Britney Spears songs a little too loudly to myself and wondering who I was trying to impress before the kitchen was finished. It probably would have taken less time if my rendition of "Toxic" hadn't distracted me and I hadn't dropped a bowl, which shattered and broke a floor tile. When I did finally finish, I returned to my room and fell onto the bed, exhausted. I grabbed my phone, planning on mindlessly flicking through twitter before bed, when I noticed a notification at the top of the screen.

Seven missed calls from: Dan

Oh fuck. I had forgotten that he'd called earlier. But what could he possibly want that warranted seven calls? I rolled my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him right now, but I decided it must be important. I dialed his number.

"Phil?" He answered on the first ring. His voice sounded weird.

"Dan? Ha-have you been crying?"