'Til You're Mine

Two

"There's a mysterious force

It sinks in its claws

Pulls me closer to yours"

-Alexandra Savior

Alex and I begin texting as if nothing happened– as if we're back in that time where we were just collaborators, becoming friends, comfortable with one another, easy together, excited about our work, our art. It didn't start that way though. That first night he texted me after the Colbert sighting– so casual, so aloof– I was cautious, hesitant to reply even though every single one of my defenses were already crumbling away as his 'Ultracheese' performance played on a loop in my mind. I waited a full twenty minutes before I responded, staring into the dark like a crazy person while thoughts played on a wizened film projector in my mind– before I texted back just as casually, if not impersonal.

Doing well! How are you?

He didn't need to know I was struggling to write anything for my second album, that I was in a mostly long distance relationship that was probably not going to last much longer, that most days I felt listless and flustered and purposeless.

All right, he replied. Busy with the tour and all

I laid in my bed, phone held aloft, above my face as I read it. If he was reaching out so nonchalantly after all this time, he must have a purpose, right? I was sure he was going to ask me about Columbia Records, or the album, or Cameron, anything relating to work. And if not, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of asking how the tour was going, diving deeper into this small talk. We were past small talk. I deserved more than small talk. So I didn't reply to the text at all, just locked my phone and laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing before I could pin them down.

My phone lit up again with another text, only moments later.

Actually, I've been shit. Can't sleep most nights. Thoughts racing and all that

It wasn't like him, to be so vulnerable and honest, and it broke down any last vestige of resentment I was holding towards him.

Me and Taylor broke up

So Dani was right.

Are you okay? I finally managed to type back. Then immediately followed by: How drunk are you? Because it immediately occurred to me that he must be fairly smashed if he was texting me this way, after all this time– after our last encounter.

I expected a quippy response, something witty and dry that would set me straight. I expected him to bounce back into resilience, coolness, closed-offness. What I wasn't expecting was for him to call me. The second his name popped up, immediately after my text went through, I froze, my heart leaping against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. He obviously knew I was near my phone, so the question was, did I make a point and not answer– to make it clear that things were most definitely different after Hotel Cafe? Even if he was "shit", even if he and Taylor were done.

I answered. Of course I answered.

"Hello?"

"Savior," he said, and I could hear it: he was 100% gone, probably drunk and high.

"So I was right," I replied.

He paused, and it was so quiet I couldn't even hear him breathing, before he finally said, "A bit."

I sat on the line, my heart still beating so hard I could feel it across my ribcage. It sounded like he was smoking, or taking a sharp inhale of breath. I thought about making a joke about the first time we were speaking in months being a drunk dial, but instead I said, "I saw your hair."