Page 220 of Collide
Each time, voicemail.
No call. No text.
The thought sinks deep, heavy as stone, as I sit curled on the floor, arms wrapped tight around my knees. The zipper digs into my back. The sequins scratch against my skin.
Did I do something wrong?
I whisper it aloud, just to fill the room.
My voice cracks on the last word.
I sound pathetic.
The champagne’s warm now, but I drink it anyway, wiping at my cheek, mascara smudging beneath my fingertips.
And then—Buzz.
My phone vibrates against the hardwood.
My breath catches.
Alex.
His name glows on the screen like a flare. I stare at it too long, pulse thundering in my ears.
Then slowly, I press the phone to my ear.
“…Hello?”
Silence.
Just his breathing, low and ragged.
Not playful. Not teasing. Not his usual midnight voice that makes me feel like the only girl in the world.
It’s tired. Pained.
“Elena,” he finally says. His accent’s thicker. His voice rough, like it hurts to speak my name.
Gripping the bottle tighter, I whisper, “Where were you? Are you okay?”
Another beat of silence.
Then—softly, so soft I almost miss it—he exhales, shaking.
“Elena, I’m sorry.”
Relief sweeps through me. Sharp, quick, like air after drowning. He’s sorry. That means there’s a reason. Something happened.
He’s here now.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
The room spins.
I sit up straighter, my chest tightening as the words hit like a cold slap. “What?”
His silence stretches, and that is somehow worse than the words themselves. Then, softer—almost like an apology—he says, “It’s over.”
