Hot Line | ✓

call #3

"hello, tee."

"hi, evan. i see you have a habit of calling at 9pm."

"how observant of you."

a light laugh leaves her lips. "how are you doing today?"

"not great. she came to grab a few of her things from our apartment today. she brought him with her."

"i'm sorry."

"i cried."

she stays silent.

"i know men aren't supposed to cry but i keep crying."

"it's healthy to cry, man or not. don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"i just don't get it. i keep replaying everything in my head to figure out where i went wrong."

"maybe it wasn't your fault."

"maybe." he sighs. "we were together for eight years."

"shit."

"i asked her to homecoming freshman year and she became my girlfriend the next week."

"how old are you now?"

"twenty-three. you?"

"twenty."

"and you're working for a sex line?"

"i have to pay for my tuition somehow."

"so you're in college?"

"yeah. i'm a history major."

"tell me something historical."

"everyone dies."

he pauses briefly and then laughs. "not exactly good at lifting moods are you?"

a small chuckle passes her lips. "i'm plenty good at lifting moods. why do you think people call me?"

"why not be a stripper or something? they make good money."

"who says i don't do both?"

"do you?"

"no. i can't dance. but i can talk."

"isn't that a high school musical song?"

she laughs. "not quite."

they stay silent for a while. both laying in their beds, both staring at their ceilings, both lost in their own thoughts. and then he speaks.

"have you ever gone through a breakup?"

"yeah."

"how did you get over it?"

the phone line briefly goes silent once more. "i learned to be okay being by myself."