INSANE ⋆ Z.M (rewriting)

2 - A Match

Previously titled: Phone Book

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She never called. She never texted. She never said anything. It's like she never even existed.

I wondered why she didn't call. She had everything she needed. A phone, my number. Why didn't she call? They always call.

Was she a figment of my imagination? Was she another person that the voices created? Was she part of one of their little games?

Or was she real? She seemed so real.

I stayed up night after night wondering. I found myself in bars passing the time, causing a little trouble with a few girls here and there. I wandered the city at night until I could see the sun rising behind the sky scrapers.

I kept myself busy like I always do. Perpetually looking for some sort of enjoyment within the dull, monotonous gazes of people who tried so hard to interest me.

Last night I stayed up, bored, until the late night re-runs changed into the morning news.

Until the crickets turned into chirping birds. Until Netflix asked me if I was still watching my show at least 4 times.

I haven't properly slept in 3 days.

So I sit here on my couch, the sun not yet peeking through the curtains. A soap opera re-run is starting. I wait for something. Anything. I wait.

And wait.

Reluctantly, I sigh and lean onto my knees. I look away from the TV.

"She's not gonna call." I realize aloud, tossing my matchbook left and right.

Left, right. Left, right.

"Was she even real?" I ask aloud, looking at my aloe vera plant that sits in the center of my coffee table.

I receive no answer from the plant.

"Didn't think so."  I say and frown.

Lonely?

"Fuck off." I say quietly, in no mood for their shit right now.

How pathetic.

He's alone. He's always alone.

I shake my head, ignoring them. They're usually a bit more irritable in the mornings, especially when I haven't slept in a while. So I don't blame them for being annoyed with me.

It's all her fault.

Who does she think she is?

I raise my brow, silently agreeing with them. I run my fingers along the shiny surface of the matchbook, making a great deal of studying it.

Who does she think she is? She was the one who saw me first. She's the one who approached me. I wouldn't have even seen her had she not made her presence known. Shouldn't she be eager to see me? They're always so eager to see me again.