It

She stared into the darkness. Her mind was going in a million different directions at a million miles an hour. Everything was happening so fast. She didn’t want to make this decision. Not now, not ever. But she had too.

She closed her eyes but no sleep came. Even the comfort of her foam pillow couldn’t calm her mind. She had to make up her mind before morning because otherwise she would allow it to go on for too long.

A vibration carried through her mattress and hit her right arm. She picked up her BlackBerry hoping to see a message from him but sighed when she realized that the vibration was just an email. “Save 50% on all Spring Fashion before Spring Hits!” the message said. Nausea rose in her. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that she wouldn’t allow it to go that far.

A sigh escaped her lips and she threw herself out of bed. Sleep obviously wasn’t coming unassisted. Her bare feet paddled to the kitchen and stood on their toes as she reached above her fridge. The whiskey felt heavy in her hand as she went to the cupboard for a glass. She poured herself a full glass, enough to make her sleepy. Right as she brought the glass to her lips she stopped. He would be mad. But he hasn’t seemed to care. It would end up ruined. But what if it doesn’t matter? It does matter.

Frustration rose inside of her. He hasn’t called in three days and knew he had to if he wanted it to happen. She could easily make the decision alone but he is part of it. She had to let him have his part in it if he wanted. She just hoped that he felt the same way as she did; that would make it easy to deal with.

The Catholic guilt that had been bubbling at the surface burst through at the thought and she let out a snuffed cry. How could she even be considering this? More importantly, how did she let things get this far? She was always so careful but something went wrong. She had been stupid. So stupid.

The guilt was replaced by anger as she threw the glass of whiskey into the sink. The glass shattered into a million pieces. Some had flown up and scratched her skin but she had become too numb with anger to have felt the pain.

She looked at the blood that ran down her arm from one of the cuts. She watched as the droplet slowly descended down her arm and plopped onto the white title. After the first, the droplets began to drip at a steady pace making the small puddle grow. She stared at the puddle and pictured it doing the same thing. She needed him to call.

Pain finally set in and she let a single tear escape her cheek. Before the tear even had a chance to have reached the end of her face and join the puddle of blood, she wiped her hand across her face. She realized that she had to get her act together. She threw her shoulders back and paddled into the bathroom. Once there, she opened her medicine cabinet and took out some nighttime cold medicine. Anything to get some shut eye.

The mirror shut and wobbled. She stared at her wobbling reflection and almost let out another cry. The frustration, anger, confusion, and panic were written across her face. Any person could see that she was drowning but no one, not even him, reached out to save her.

She slapped her reflection. It wobbled. She almost puked. She closed her eyes to steady herself. Deep breaths escaped her lips as though they would fix all of her problems. When she opened her eyes, her reflection was still staring at her. This time, her reflection was steady.

Laughter erupted and echoed in her tiny bathroom. The irony of her steady reflection was not lost on her sleep deprived brain. How could she ever be steady now or at any point in the future? Tomorrow everything was going to change. It was going to happen or it wasn’t and all she needed for that decision was a phone call. One simple, lousy, phone call.

Once the laughter subsided, her feet paddled back to her bed and her foam pillow. She threw herself face down on the mattress and the tears that she had held back for so long flowed out of her. Tomorrow her life would be forever changed. Tomorrow it would come to a crossroad and she would have to choose which way it went. Unless he called. Then she wouldn’t be alone in deciding what to do with it. He would help. But she had to decide 8am. But he would call, he always had called. She had to be prepared to choose herself. Unless he called.

The two sides of her mind and the nighttime cold medicine carried her into a deep sleep. She woke up the next morning with no messages from him. As 8am approached, she stared at her phone hoping she didn’t have to make the decision to end it alone.

He never called.