"Baby, who was that?" she asks as she sleepily rolls over and rubs her eyes, the moonlight reflecting off of her flawless skin.
I brush a strand of her golden blond hair out of her eyes and softly kiss her temple. "Wrong number sweetheart. Go back to sleep," I comfort her as I carefully swing my legs over my side of the bed.
She rolls over generally unconcerned, groggily mumbling something about how I need to get my number changed. Were she any other woman, were she you, she might have suspected me of cheating a year ago, when the mysterious phone calls became routine. However, she wasn't like that. She had explicit trust in me, for I hadn't given her any reason to not have such faith in me. But, then again, I never gave you any reason not to either.
I silently stand up, and once she feels the absence of my weight making its impression upon the mattress, she inquires as to wear I'm going. I tell her that I'm making my way to the kitchen for a glass of water, and that I'll be back shortly. I hear her make a general sound of consent before her breathing pattern once again becomes shallow, letting me know that she has returned to her slumber.
Every night the same ritual occurs. Whether it's at 12AM or 2AM, without fail, I can expect that phone to ring, and expect you to hang up without a word. You don't think I know that its you calling me every night, as you don't realize that your name displays on my cells caller ID every time. You don't realize that your name and number have never left my phone book for even a second that we've been apart.
Every night I pick up, calmly at first, thinking that maybe tonight will be different and that maybe tonight you will divulge your reasons for calling. Then I grow frustrated, realizing that your playing the same old games that you always did. And then you hang up and she questions and I feel the same old sharp pangs in my chest that I've felt every night ever since I left you.
If you knew all this, you might accuse me of playing the same game as you are. You might wonder as to why I don't make the first move, as to why I don't quit the charade and admit that I know its you calling every night. Sometimes I wonder the same thing myself. Then I remember that you did this, that you're the reason we're in this situation in the first place.
I know you were young when we first met. I understand. Love was something new for you. You were scared at first, scared that I might let you down like so many others had in the past. You knew I had more experience in the field than you had, and that made you insecure. You thought you couldn't measure up to all the girls that I had previously dated. Little did you know that you surpassed them by leaps and bounds in my eyes
But you refused to see this. You refused to see that I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone else in my life. You didn't see the reality of the situation. You only saw the universe that you imagined in your head. The one where I would cheat on you with every girl I came across. In your mind, our relationship had crashed before it had even got a chance to leave the ground.
For these reasons I can't force myself to make the first move again. There is nothing to ensure me that you've changed. You're still playing games. You're still too scared to admit what you want from me. Still too immature and insecure to take any other action than to prank call me in the middle of the night. Because that's what this amount to. One big prank. Your calls serve no purpose other than to reopen old wounds, to remind me of something which I've tried so hard to forget.
Little do you know that if you just said something, anything, you'd have me in the palm of your hand. If you would just say that thoughts of me are what's keeping you up at night, I'd see that you were willing to be vulnerable where it concerns me. I'd know for sure that you were trying to be less scared, more open and more willing to give our relationship a fair shot. Then I'd tell you that you were my first thought upon waking up and my last thought before going to sleep. And every thought in between. I would tell you that it's been hell for me living without you for these two years. That she's nothing in comparison to you. That I'd been waiting for you to come to your senses, for you to finally admit that you need me just as much as I need you. That all I've wanted this whole time was just a small sign that you'd changed and that you were willing to put into our relationship half of the effort that I had previously exuded. If you would just say anything, I'd be yours again.