I hate whoever invented the answering machine. I hate them so much I want to take my phone and shove it down his throat and see how he feels about his invention now. I hate that even after 3 weeks of ignoring them; they still haven't gotten the hint.
No, I don't want to talk to you. No I don't care if you're getting annoyed and no you don't understand. How could you? Have you ever been betrayed by everyone you cared about. Your friends, your family, your love? How can you possibly understand what I am going through? The betrayal is hard enough to handle, but then there is sadness, the anger, the confusion, the hurt and those times, those amazing times where you feel nothing at all. It's like the world has stopped and you can just sit and look at the stars. All the horrible feelings rushing through you, continuously changing, gone. But every time I reach that emotionless state, the beep of the answering machine goes off, pulling me away from my happy place of nothingness.
The message is played. It's always that same. It's always from the same people, saying the same things. Were worried, were sorry, we understand how you feel. On what planet do you know how I feel? You did this to me. You sent me here, you thought you knew what I wanted, but you're wrong. This isn't what I wanted. Maybe a year ago yes, but now, there are more important things.
My dream, what I wanted, was to be here, in New York, but with Finn and Kurt. To be living is some shoebox apartment that was crowded and far away from everything. That we would have fights but makeup and spend our evenings out trying any street vendor style food we could find, or curled up watching some crappy TV show on one of our 3 channels. It may have been hard and frustrating, but it was what I dreamt about. Not this. I'm alone, in my dorm.
There's nothing special about it. It's small, with 2 single beds, one waiting to be occupied, a small TV, a bathroom and in the corner is that constantly beeping 10 year old phone. Telling me I have 5 new messages, 6 new messages, 12 new messages. When will people realise I'm not going to pick up! What will I have to do to stop hearing the pleas from my friends to pick up the phone; my dad's telling me their worried about me. Do I have to throw it across the room and watch with a smile as it crashed against the wall and pieces fly around the room like some slow motion dramatic scene? I've gotten close, but there is only one thing that stops me.
Him.
The man who promised me he would never leave me and sealed that promise with an engagement ring. The man who made me believe that we were going to get married but drove me to the train station to go on my merry way. The man who sat across from me in that car and told me that he was setting me free. That we needed to let go. That it was up to fate now. The man who opened my door and handed me my suitcase. Who walked me up those stairs to my platform. Who organised for everyone to be there to watch as they finally got rid of Rachel Barbara Berry.
They faked those smiles, and pretended to shed a tear while all the while they were waiting. Waiting for me to leave and never come back. And as he ran with the train, I thought that maybe just maybe he realised he didn't want to do this, he wanted me to stay.
But then, he stopped.
He stopped running and just stared. And that was it. That was him giving up. That was him "setting me free". That was him letting go. This man who claimed to love me, who wanted to marry me, would rather die in a war than be with me in New York.
Well, I'm not going to bother them anymore. I'm not going to give them any relief of their guilt by answering their calls and telling them I'm fine just so they can feel better about themselves. They wanted me here and here I am. I'm not happy about it but I'm here. So you can call all you want but I'm not picking up. And if I ever meet the man who invented the answering machine, I'm throwing mine at him.