I woke up with the kind of heaviness that made breathing feel optional.
The room was quiet and pale light slipped through the curtains, resting on the ceiling, unmoving. My body felt glued to the mattress.
It wasn't out of exhaustion.
Although it felt like exhaustion, I doubt I wasn't well rested. In fact, the first thing I did upon returning yesterday was to sleep as fast as possible.
Therefore, the issue was more mental than physical.
For a moment, I stayed on the bed, staring upward, hoping the fog in my head would clear on its own.
Perhaps not.
Bizz! Bizz!
My phone buzzed for some time before going quiet.
I groaned and lazily reached for it.
When the screen lit up, my facial features squeezed.
Missed calls stacked like bricks. Message previews overlapping each other. Her name repeated again and again until it blurred into a single ugly shape.
« Mirelle »
I scrolled.
The messages that dominated my screen were like this:
"Please pick up!
"I need to explain. It's not what you think."
"Just talk to me."
"Answer me, damnit. You jerk!"
There were timestamps from late last night, early in the morning, and a few from just minutes ago.
She had been trying nonstop.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
I opened our chat and stared at the typing bar. My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure whether to block her, reply, or throw the phone across the room.
My feelings were a mess.
I remembered the way I found out about her "cheating."
Damn cheater.
That was what you called people who were unfaithful, right?
To put everything simply, I was a twenty-one year old young man named "Asher Quill," and yesterday I had gone to her house uninvited to surprise her. It was our three year anniversary, after all, so I thought it would be nice to get her something special, you know.
The usual stuff that a guy with a partner was supposed to do.
I had imagined her smile when she would open the door. The way her eyes would light up when she saw the gift in my hands. Maybe she would tease me for being overly sentimental, then pull me inside anyway.
None of that happened.
The moment I stepped onto her porch, something felt off. Noticably, the lights were on, even though she had told me she'd be out late.
Still, like the lovelorn fool I was, I knocked, waited, and walked straight into the answer I never wanted.
And if you're curious about what I saw… let's just say I found my so-called precious Mirelle getting thoroughly "stretched" by a tall, muscular jack with a much bigger flagpole than mine.
That's not to say I was completely hopeless in that department!
If anything, girls avoided me like the plague, probably because my… equipment seemed to carry some kind of ominous aura.
Its exact size? Slightly bigger than a Pringle can, girth included.
Feel free to doubt me, of course. Too bad, though, because I had already measured it myself.
You must be curious: how did I reach this "accurate" conclusion? By comparing it side by side, naturally. A guy has to study strange anomalies, right? It was purely a scientific endeavor!
"..."
Shredding apart my comical thoughts was the dreadful memory that had already etched itself deep into the roots of my fragile mind. It didn't scream nor explode. It simply settled and stayed there. I seriously doubt I would be able to forget that memory anytime but who knows.
So yeah.
Damn cheater.
"Tch. What a goddamn pain."
I tapped her name and hit call before I could change my mind.
The line rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then voicemail.
I tried again.
Same result.
So she could flood my phone with messages, but she couldn't pick up when I called.
Certainly, she was a unique character.
Now that I think about it, why was I even trying to call her back?
Obviously, I had absolutely zero intentions of getting back together after what she did. But it would be troublesome if she continued being persistent.
I should just send her a text. That's much better than wasting my strength calling.
Checking the time, my eyes widened a little,
7: 30 am already? Shit. I'm going to be late for work! I can wallow in my self-pity some other time!
I shot upright in bed, the lingering haze instantly evaporating into mild panic.
Late was bad. Late meant explanations. Explanations meant conversations. And conversations were the last thing I wanted today.
I grabbed the phone again and quickly typed a short message before tossing it onto the pillow.
No time to waste.
I swung my legs off the bed and rushed toward the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face. The mirror reflected a pair of tired green eyes, that had once been bright and full of energy, along with messy auburn hair that looked like it had fought a small war overnight.
I dragged a hand through it and let out an exhausted breath.
Get it together, Asher.
Brushing my teeth felt automatic. So did throwing on the nearest clean shirt and jeans. My movements were stiff, like my whole body was running on muscle memory while my mind lagged behind somewhere else.
As I slipped my shoes on, my phone vibrated again.
I ignored it.
Whatever she had to say could wait. Right now, I had bills to pay and an excruciating shift to survive.
I grabbed my keys and stepped outside, the morning air cool against my skin. The sky was washed in pale blue, clouds drifting lazily as if the world had no idea mine had tilted slightly off its axis.
My room was located on the fourth floor of an apartment complex, so I had a perfect view of the city and the world below the railing as long as you leaned close enough and not too much, otherwise, since they are mostly loose, they would break and you would fall.
Falling from the fourth floor of a tall apartment complex.
Did I need to say much?
People passed by on the sidewalk, chatting, laughing, scrolling through their phones. Just ordinary people living their ordinary lives.
For a brief second, I felt disconnected from all of it, like I was watching the city through a thin sheet of glass.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket again.
This again...?!
Annoyed, I pulled it out, ready to mute the conversation.
But, strangely enough, the notification was not from Mirelle.
It was an unknown number.
I frowned.
"Unknown Caller?"
Was this one of those cases where someone entered the wrong number and accidentally called a stranger?
It was certainly the first time I had ever seen this number.
And it couldn't be my parents either.
So who was it?
Could it be…
My eyes widened in sudden realization.
"A debt collector perhaps?"