4 AM 》 fp jones

i

My phone screen illuminated the walls of my dark bedroom. I was awake and decided to roll over to answer the call. The harsh light stung my eyes and made me squint.

"Hello?"

My voice was raspier than i thought it would come out like.

Loud music was playing in the background on the caller's side. It was hardly audible to hear him over the guitars and the growl of the singer's voice, it didn't help that the caller was slurring his words.

"Gladys!"

He shouted. Other people started to talk in the background.

"I miss-"

The phone went dead.

I looked at the number and realised I didn't recognise it at all. I rolled my eyes, in this day and age how do people still call the wrong number?

Seconds later, before I even had the chance to put the phone back on charge and back to its resting place of the bedside table, the screen lit up again. The same unknown number.

"Hello?"

You were clearer this time, less tired, more pissed off.

It was quiet now on the other side of the phone, no other voices but his.

"Gladys!"

He sighed.

"Please come back!"

You were struck into silence with the pain laced within his words.

"If not for me, for the kids."

You had to speak now.

"Erm, this isn't Gladys."