Love 13: Change and Tears
(Note to readers: This is inspired by the song "Why Don't You Call Me Yet" by Rin Kagamine. It touched me when I read the English lyrics and I felt a pull to write this.)
Drip…drop…drip…drop.
The salt fell from her eyes, and it fell, and it fell.
She couldn't stop it.
It's been weeks, maybe even months since that night.
It was the night that it all went wrong…
She cried and she cried, and no matter how tightly she shut her eyes, the tears still came and dropped down onto her pink phone. The bed supported her back, but to her dismay it didn't keep her heart from dropping down even deeper into the pit than it already was.
She called his name into the limited light of her bedroom, begging- pleading for her phone to vibrate in the palm of her hand.
But it never did…
It never vibrated, it never rang. She couldn't tell you the last time she'd heard the special ringtone she'd set for him. He would never answer whenever she called.
Just this thought made her choke on her own tears.
She'd let it slip.
They'd been together for only nine days and she let her true feelings for him slip.
"I love you", she learned, could make a human being feel on top of the world or crushed below it. Those three words could complete a human being or shatter the pieces already there so the 'foolish' human being had to search for them all over again.
It had been obvious the second she said it which one it would be for her.
She couldn't help it. The way he was looking at her made her feel so…so-
…It made her feel like he loved her too.
But he didn't.
Heck, he looked so shocked to hear that, that it killed her to even consider the fact he might not LIKE her.
Why, then? Why did he throw his arms out in front of her and ONLY her when they hear a bloody scream?
Why did he kiss so gently when he held her?
The answer she couldn't bear, she knew it. He was thinking about somebody else. All this time he was thinking about another girl's lips, another girl's voice, another girl's touch.
And all she could do was make his imagination a good one.
She continued to stare down at the phone as the clock ticked, her heart beating along with it, a fresh tear shedding every second. Giving up, she let go of it, the window breaking in the process. She didn't care that she'd never see that phone again. She didn't care if she'd have to pay for the shattered window!
Then she took one look at the broken glass, the hole gapping in the middle.
Rain fell outside, the occasional drop hitting her bedroom floor.
The window slowly started to turn red in her mind's eyes, forming into a different shape.
When it finished forming, she realized exactly how shattered she truly was. She was demolished. She was destroyed. She couldn't feel anything save for the uncomfortable tightening in her chest, a pain she never thought he would cause her.
But she was wrong.
She was wrong about everything.
She was wrong to be comfortable with her undeveloped (yet still curvy) figure.
She was wrong to have confidence in her grammar and deduction skills.
She was wrong to not wear make-up everyday like most women do.
She was wrong to trust her heart in his hands.
He had realized, she thought, that she was jealous but understanding, loud but modest, happy but easily depressed.
But now he had thrown her into a spiraling pit of never-ending jealousy, fear, insecurity, sadness, and nostalgia. Not that he would care, though. What a funny thing to think at a time like this!
Twisting around at a sudden speed, she threw her head and arms over her bed, staining the sheets with her tears.
"It won't stop!" She moaned, choking once more in the process. "It won't stop!" Her voice was shaking, and she hated it, hated it. Why did she feel like this?
Because she loved him and she was dumb enough to let it slip, THAT'S why.
Then her weeping was no longer the only sound in the room, and the rain seemed to quiet down. (Funny, had it been getting that loud to her?) First she ignored it, not content with her already-distasteful-face being seen red with streaming tears.
But then it got louder, more urgent.
She stood up, fixing her hair and face as she walked to the door.
Taking the handle, she slowly slid open the door.
She gasped, face turning possibly even redder than it already was.
But not because she was embarrassed or happy.
Because somebody had the guts to ding dong ditch her at a time like this!
I wanna see you…
Don't you wanna see me?
I've been waiting for your call…
No…it couldn't be. Twisting around, she ran over to her bedside, her home-phone ringing towards her. It was calling her.
Her hand gently slid up and down the hard material before she picked it up.
"Moshi moshi?" Her voice came unsurely.
Because I'm afraid
That you'll say…
Silence.
That was all she got from the other end of the phone.
Who are you?
"Turn around." A voice finally came from the speakers.
The heart that had sunk so deeply into the pit of her stomach jumped into its original home, pounding against her chest consistently at the familiar voice.
I can't make the call to you…
There, standing at the door that she neglected to close over her hasty retreat to her home-phone, was the man she'd been crying over.
His cellphone still pressed to his ear, he held that know-it-all grin that somehow attached itself to his face. Then he made a movement with his other hand, signaling for her to hold the phone to her ear. She silently and cautiously did so.
And when she did, she realized she'd been right this entire time.
"I love you."