Benevolence

Chapter 20: Lovers Interlude

He can never admit his wrongs while sober: Drew. He always has to drink or get high, so he can slur it out instead. Forcing me to pick apart words from a trippy stream of syllables, his usually coherent dialect turns into cowering whispers; as if he isn't sure he wants his apology to be an apology at all.

I'm such a hypocrite for thinking that, a faded mess as I sit atop my bedroom windowsill. My head is pressed against the cold glass and one barefoot is propped up on the opposite wall with the other dangling off the ledge, just grazing the surface of my floor. The Henny and blunt are lined up hand in hand, and my phone is balanced on my thigh, bellowing Drew's hallucinatory voice through the mist in my mind. He might as well be outside my house, in the street, throwing rocks up at my window. With the air-bending sounds of rhythm and blues softly infiltrating my room, my mental walls go crumbling, and in he enters, presenting himself the devil on my left shoulder.

He starts with the blame, the short but long enough narcissistic comments. "Oh, so you not gon' answer the phone?" His voice has an intoxicated rasp, his speech slow, but self-assured. "I'm blowin' up your phone, trynna get through to you and you deadass not gon' answer?....word?....You— you not even gon leave' me on read to let me know you got my texts?... Man, that's crazy.....that's crazy Lai."

I laugh dryly, unimpressed by his arbitrary response to everything, and take a nice pull, watching the tail end of the soothing stick spark red as I inhale deeply before blowing it out the window.

"The fact that you think I'm cheatin' is wild to me. Lai I'm yours, you know that...I know you know," he croaks, diving headfirst into another whirlpool of thought-provoking pleas. "Aight-- maybe I been givin' you the cold shoulder, but now that shit comin' full circle and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, aight'? This shit don't feel right...You sure didn't deserve to be feeling like this....but bro--after that fallin' out I--I was angry... angry that you were the one to walk out on me and not the other way around..."

"Mmm..." I inhale sharply, holding it in until it begins to burn. "And there it is," I mumble, exhaling through my nose.

"Shit, I know it sounds fucked up, but I was the one having a hard time--not you. I was the one trynna compete with Bryan for your attention. But that nigga don't mean nothin'--I know that now. I trust you."

"Congratulations." I roll my eyes, bringing the glass of bronze liquid to my lips.

"And...you were right, I'm insecure," he confesses. "The people in my life don't stay around for long Lai. I--

The line ends due to the mailbox time-limit, but best believe there's a follow-up. I look down at the device, hesitant on proceeding with the next voicemail. He's only winding me up a tight rope of self-doubt, but at this point, with my mind and body on zen, I allow my curiosity to take its climb and manage to convince myself that I'm listening purely out of entertainment.

"It's gon be a miracle if you even listen to all this," he starts. "Shit--you prolly deleted it as soon as you heard my voice..." He's silent for a few beats. "Angel..."

I look down at the phone, the raw longing in his voice making my clear painted toes curl up. What is it about lovers and nicknames that make women and men alike standstill, as if being pulled back by a leash? Maybe getting crossed wasn't such a great idea. I hate him right now, but it doesn't stop my body from craving him.

"Look, I don't know which part of the conversation you heard, but you gotta allow me to explain--or else you gon keep convincin' yourself of somethin' that ain't true... and I know you prolly beatin' yourself up about it. "

Fuck him for saying that. Because I am, and I'm loathing every second of it. I press my wrists into my temples, cradling my head. "This is blowing my high..."