Doorman

Better

I thought I was better. I really did.
I thought I was better until I found myself waking up at 4:00pm when I went to bed at 9:00pm the previous day.

I look around, the curtains had blocked out all the sun in the room. I go to check my phone, the brightness of the screen burning my tired eyes.

12 unread messages from Michael.
10 missed calls from the same.

I read the messages:

Michael:
I need to talk to you about something important later, maybe we can make lunch out of it?

Michael:
[This message is a badly photoshopped picture of you and him at lunch. It's very funny.]

Michael:
Are you okay?

Michael:
You're probably still asleep sorry

There's a two hour gap between the messages and when I can see he started to call me.

He leaves no voice messages, but instead begins to text again.

Michael:
Are you okay?

Michael:
Are you busy?

Michael:
Please pick up.

Michael:
Are you scared to talk? I totally get it I shouldn't have phrased it that way

Michael:
but I do really need to talk to you.

An hour gap between the messages.

Michael:
Is it getting bad again?

Michael:
I can come over if you want but you need to tell me

He called again.

Michael:
I'll be here if you need me.

I cry and I cry some more. I really fucked up. I can only gather the strength to text back something very simple.

Me:
im sorry

Almost immediately, Michael gives a response.

Michael:
Are you okay? What happened? Do you need me to come over?

Tears streaming down my face, I can hear them hit the pillow with a satisfying sound similar to that of a light rain.

Me:
please.

That was all I was able to text back before curling into the fetal position and sobbing, waiting for Michael to come and save me.