The After Effect || short story series: book #1

5.

There's a part of me that will always be hoping that he picks up his phone, gives me a sign that he read such a painful and vulnerable story to write, and tells me that there must be some way to fix the damage.

That even though I have to learn to love myself again before giving anyone else the opportunity I gave him, and taking the risk of getting hurt once more, I'll always live with the belief that it takes someone else to truly see the greatness in oneself.

Despite the heartbreak, he made me discover things about myself that I wouldn't have known otherwise.

He was a fix I didn't know I needed until I didn't have him anymore.

I loved him; he loved me, and somewhere in between those lines, I learned to love myself.

He read the last of her writing over and over again.

It was as if she was giving him some sort of guidance as to what he should do, but he wasn't sure. She had made it clear to him that she wanted nothing of him.

She had lost all credibility in his words.

His phone was dangerously close to him. His eyes ached and begged for sleep, but his mind begged for her. Just one last piece of her.

His fingers were quick to find her, click her name, and press down on the simple letters that started it all, hoping to give her that sign he thought she wanted from him, but he was unable to hit send:

Hai.

He almost rolled his eyes at himself at how stupid he was being, with his thumb hovering over the screen. Why did he think she would reply to someone who broke her?

His head shook as he closed his laptop, and set it to the side.

His body finally rested on the soft mattress before he closed his eyes, the ache slowly starting to subside.

He began thinking of her; it's all he seemed to do these past few days. Think of her and drink down the bitterness. She was part of the reason he didn't make any gestures at the liquor that burned down his throat anymore.

He thought of the sound of her voice before she fell asleep, and found himself hitting the green button at last.

A soft noise came from his phone almost immediately, his eyes snapping open in disbelief.

He opened the text, slightly squinting before reading over the small words, on the small screen, that would shatter the slither of that hope he needed to make things right again:

Sorry, but the recipient has chosen not to receive messages.

• • • • •

Moving on is hard, but it's not impossible.
For some it may take a really long time
to understand that it's over
and that it's time to let go.
But sometimes we try so hard to let go
that we end up holding on tighter.

• • • • •