"I miss you, don't call me. call me, don't call me. Don't call me, please call me." -I miss you, don't call me by Alessia Cara.

Thursday, May 2nd, 2013

7:30 PM

"You have reached the voice mailbox of... Noah. Please, leave your message at the tone."

"Hey, you! Uh, I kinda-sorta miss you. We haven't talked in like... ages. Well, technically, it hasn't even been two days, but that's like forever in our world, isn't it? Ha-ha, anyway, call me when you get this. Bye."

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

9:12 AM

"You have reached the voice mailbox of... Noah. Please, leave your message at the tone."

"Noah, is everything okay? I'm worried. Call me when you get a chance."

Saturday, May 4th, 2013

10:10 PM

"You have reached the voice mailbox of... Noah. Please, leave your message at the tone."

"I don't know what's going on with you and, frankly, I don't care anymore. But if this is your way of ending things, I'm disappointed in you."

"Still no answer?" Rosie asked, leaning on the doorframe with a sympathetic look on her face.

I simply shook my head from where I sat on my bed, not trusting myself enough to speak without letting my tears spill.

The feeling of dread engulfed me like a skin-tight blanket. Something was up with Noah. I had texted him countless times. I had called and called until my pride got the best of me, all to no avail.

Where the hell was Noah, and why wasn't he picking up my calls?

I ruminated on the last time I had talked to him- the day he told me he loved me. I broke down our entire conversation and mulled over everything that had happened that morning. Starting from his hesitant smile to the words we had exchanged. Well, he was the one doing most of the talking. I just sat there, glitching like a malfunctioning robot. I hadn't handled it well. Had I?

I was so stupid. I should've told Noah I loved him, too. Why didn't I tell him I loved him? Who in the world said thank you when a person professed their love to them? A degenerate, that's who. And that's exactly what I was. A stupid, self-sabotaging degenerate. What was wrong with me? Why was I so incapable of sustaining relationships? Why did I ruin everything I touched?

Noah had told me to take my time, though. Didn't he? He said it wouldn't change a thing if I didn't say it back. He did. I remembered it vividly. Surely, he would understand me. He knew me and loved me. He wouldn't give up on me that easily, would he? No, he wouldn't just disappear like that; he wouldn't do that to me.

"I just hope he's okay." I said as I looked at my friend dejectedly. My body was aching with sadness. I never knew missing a person would hurt so badly. I had been so used to his presence that days without him felt unlivable. Had I driven him away already?

"I'm sure he is." She tried to assure me, but her voice lacked confidence. She closed my door softly and left me without company. All by myself, once again.

That was when I felt my heart crack a little. It might've been my ribs, though. I had been holding my breath a lot; my lungs must have stretched a little too much. The knots in my stomach tightened, and my eyes watered. Oh my God! What had I done? Had I screwed it all up already? Had it all ended before it even began?

Noah and I hadn't talked since my birthday, which was days ago. After texting me, saying he'd call me back later, he had disappeared into thin air. It was the longest I had gotten without hearing from him. I tried to reach out to him, but he had left me on read when I texted and sent me straight to voice mail when I called. Going from that level of attachment to no contact at all felt so strange.

At first, my asinine brain convinced me to believe that he could be on a plane coming to surprise me. He did say that he wanted to come to see me on the last text he sent, so my thought wasn't far-fetched. But then, hours passed, and then days passed, and when no one showed up at my doorstep holding flowers, I gave up on that thought.

After my brief period of wishful thinking, I became impatient and started looking for answers myself. I clicked my phone open and went over to my Instagram app. I started to type his username on the search bar, but it automatically filled it for me. I had been going through his page every hour or so, so I wasn't surprised when the app suggested his name first and saved me some time. I clicked on the icon with his picture and scrolled and scrolled until my thumb strained. Nada. But I expected that much. He wasn't the type to update his socials frequently, anyway.

I then went over to the other Thompson's page, knowing that I wouldn't find what I was looking for. But still, I had to try. I was running out of ideas and slowly being consumed by the weight of it all. Unsurprisingly, Zach's profile didn't offer me answers either. I was tired of constantly bickering with the voice in my head.

"Maybe I am overreacting," I said out loud, trying to convince myself. After all, it was just four days. People went weeks without talking to each other, months even, and still maintained their relationships. Sometimes I didn't talk to my parents for days. No big deal. Besides, he could be busy with work or school.

Too busy for a quick call? The voice in my head probed.

"Well, no." I countered, speaking to myself like a crazy person. But what if he was feeling under the weather? What if he wasn't in the mood to talk to people? What if he was just tired of talking to me? Talking to me every single day must have been draining him. What was it called? Social burnout? Perhaps our attachment felt unhealthy to him, and he was subtly trying to establish some boundary.

But boundaries are meant to be established by both parties, aren't they? The voice refuted again, making plausible points.

I huffed out a long breath, unable to decipher any of the mess I was paddling in. It just didn't make sense at all. Even if he had a valid reason for shutting me out and even if that reason had nothing to do with me. He still could have-should have sent me a quick text, letting me know he couldn't talk. He could've even sent me a custom text. How hard could that be?

Regardless of what was going on with him, he needed to let me know where we stood. He shouldn't just vanish like that. Especially after saying those things to me. It was getting harder and harder to defend his actions. What the freak?

Dispirited by the lack of answers, I clicked my phone shut and tossed it aside. I needed to think clearly.

...

Thinking clearly didn't last long. Minutes later, I was clasping my phone and fiddling with it nervously. I was getting more and more exasperated.

Begrudgingly, I went over to his best friend's page to try my luck one last time. I knew what I was doing was an invasion of privacy; I was bordering on maniacal. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

When I clicked on Ben's page, I didn't even need to do much snooping or scrolling. All the answers to my never-ending questions presented themselves to me. I was casually greeted with a picture from just 6 hours ago.

The thing about anger is it makes you cunning. It consumes your essence and persuades you to use your guile to get what you want. And so, that's what happened next. I boiled with fury as I sought my answer.

To anyone else, the picture looked harmless. It was just Ben standing in the middle of the club, smiling from ear to ear, throwing up what seemed like a gang sign with his fingers. But to a girl who had been left on read, it screamed evidence. All I had to do was zoom in and tilt it a little to the left. There he was, caught red-handed.

Noah was standing in a far corner, gripping a beer bottle in his left hand, oblivious to his surroundings. He wasn't posing for the picture; he didn't even look like he was aware that someone was snapping a picture. But he was in that club. Wasted, might I add? He looked trashed- so inebriated that his eyes weren't even open. He looked like someone else; someone who didn't have his life together.

Triggered, that's what I was. The veins on my forehead throbbed, and my whole body fumed with rage. I was sick and worried about his wellbeing, and there he was, partying all night, ignoring all my calls. What the hell was wrong with him?

It wasn't his callousness per se that infuriated me. It was my sheer idiocy. Of course, he was out there living his life. I was nothing but an online friend to him, after all. He didn't have any obligation to be loyal to me, did he? He might have even been high when he callously dumped those stupid three words on me. Who knew?

As sad and confused as I was with him, I was also spiteful- so vindictive. If he wanted to disappear out of my life, then so be it. I'd do nothing but hold the door open for him.

Sunday, May 5th, 2013

6:20 PM

"Uber's here!" Rosie yelled from across the room.

"Coming!" I shouted as I sprayed perfume on my neck and wrists. I made a huge scene, jogging out of my room only to run back inside when I remembered I had left my phone on my bed. I quickly grabbed it, gave myself a once over through my mirror, and ran back out, slamming my door closed in a hurry.

"Sorry." I shrugged, smiling at an irritated Rosie.

She just rolled her eyes and held the door open, gesturing for me to walk out of the apartment first.

Rosie was taking me out to a late birthday dinner. We had a busy week with school, and between our crammed schedules, we couldn't find a day that worked for the both of us. That was how we settled with a quick dinner on a Sunday before she left for her boyfriend's place.

The mere idea of dressing up and going out excited me to a great degree. Maybe it was because I hadn't gone out in such a long time. Or because I had the most depressing week of my life. Either way, I was more than eager for some change of scenery.

"Are you Rosie?" the Uber driver called out, rolling his window down.

"Hi!" Rosie waved at him and kicked the door open, ushering me to go in first. I sat at the back and smiled at him, buckling my seat belt.

Rosie and I had spent over three hours getting ready, destroying the apartment in the process. Every piece of laundry we had folded that afternoon was on the floor, wrinkled and stained. Our bathroom sink was stuffed with multiple items- curling irons and hair rods. All of my closet's contents were dumped on my bed, and Rosie's vanity table was crammed with make-up. The entire house reeked of body spray and ironed hair. Only to end up looking like we were going to two different places.

I was clad in my usual attire- skinny jeans, T-shirt, and white Vans, but I took more time with my hair and make-up. I collected my hair up in a high pony with my curls hanging out, concealed the bags under my eyes, and smeared my lips with the rosiest shade of lipstick I could find. Which ultimately took me hours to do.

Rosie was wearing a silky mint green dress that had a side split that went a little above her knees. She paired it off with her nude, chunky heels and a tiny clutch that held nothing more than her cards and a phone. She left her long, blonde hair down with some wavy strands framing her small face perfectly. Rosie was a beautiful girl with striking features. Anyone with two sets of functioning eyes would stop and stare. But it was the confidence she oozed and the way she held herself that made her stand out.

I, on the contrary, was anything but confident. My freckled skin, curly hair, curvy hips, and green eyes often got me compliments from people. Making me realize I wasn't as ill-favored as I thought. But confidence came from deep within and deep within sat a mean inner critic that always made sure to remind me how not enough I was.

When people called me pretty, they didn't know I walked around with my head down and my belly tucked. Half of the specks of freckles that decked my skin were blemishes. My hair curled a certain, desirable way only after being dubbed in multiple, possibly damaging, products. My hips popped out because I strapped my mid-section with the tightest waist trainer available. And my gold-rimmed green eyes couldn't see from afar to save their lives, but I'd rather squint at objects than put on my prescription glasses and cover the one feature that guaranteed me instant compliments.

So, yes, I wasn't ugly, but I was the kind of pretty that hurt. How could I exude even a tinge of confidence, knowing what I did behind closed doors?

...

We sat at our table and went through the menu silently. I opted for the Caesar salad, and Rosie went with the house special, Lobster Ravioli. While we waited for our food to arrive, I filled her in on my recent findings. AKA the picture. I had just finished my rant when the server placed our food on our table.

"That Ass wipe!" Rosie spat with her mouth full. She was angry. Seething, really. Her fists were clenched, her eyebrows were drawn together, and her lips were sealed so tight they formed a thin line. I had never seen her so riled up.

She was too hungry to speak before her first bite and too angry to swallow her food before cursing him out. I guess she found a middle ground.

"Let me see again?" She held her hand out for me to give her my phone. I reluctantly placed it on her palm and watched apprehensively as she examined the picture for the thousandth time.

"Careful, don't like it accidentally." I said weakly as I chewed on my nails. A habit of mine that had stuck with me since childhood.

Rosie looked at me sympathetically, all the anger disappearing from her eyes. Noticing my unease, she reached over the table and held my hand, giving me a tight squeeze.

She smiled at me weakly and said the last thing I'd have expected from her.

"Men are just trash."

I nodded gingerly, willing myself not to cry. "That, they are."

I kept playing with my food, moving it around on my plate, never bringing it to my mouth. I was too nauseated to eat; Too sad to enjoy good food. A half-hearted chuckle slipped out of my mouth when the irony of it all hit me. Oh, how the tables have turned. I used to be the one that held my friends' hands when they had trouble with boys.

Rosie's phone vibrated from where it sat at the table, making the cutlery jiggle. She gave me an apologetic look as she let go of my hand and held her phone to her ears.

"Hey, baby." She rasped in a sweet, flirty tone.

That was my cue to excuse myself. I mouthed, Bathroom, to her and got up from our table. I walked to the restroom and stood in front of the mirror looking at myself, looking back at me. I looked glum. Like a cloud was hanging above my head and following me everywhere. Running my hands under the water, I patted my cheeks that had gone crimson. I wiped my wet hands on my jeans and took my phone out of my back pocket to check one more time.

Silly me. He still hadn't called.

When I went back out to our table, Rosie was still on the phone with her boyfriend. I sat on my chair and unlocked my phone once again, trying to tune her out. She deserved some privacy. I was absentmindedly tapping my phone while going through multiple scenarios in my head when I thought I heard Rosie say something directed at me. I didn't catch it.

"Huh?" I said when I figured she was actually talking to me.

She brought her phone down, covered the speaker with her hand, and whispered, "Chris is asking if you'd like to come to his place with me?"

That was the first time her boyfriend ever invited me anywhere. She must have told him how sad I was and coerced him into inviting me. A pity invite, way to go!

"Oh, um. It's okay. I'll just stay home."

"Oh, come on! Enough wallowing. Come, have fun with us. It's just going to be us and a few of his friends."

"I don't know, Rosie. I think I should go home." An uneasy feeling woke my senses up.

"You're not doing anything tonight. It's just for a few hours. We'll be back home by 10."

Uh, what the hell. It was just one night. And I was outside already. What was I going to do If I went back home? Probably curl into a ball and be sad for myself, right? Uh, I'd rather not.

The wave of impulsiveness that suddenly hit me was way out of character for my normally reserved personality. But I was feeling forlorn, and that's what emptiness does to you; it makes you seek anything that could fill it. Even if it damages you along the way.

"Come on." She smiled playfully, "Live a little."

I nodded softly, surprising myself. Had I just agreed to go out?

"Really? OMG. Yay! You're going to have so much fuuuuun." She dragged the word dramatically. "Babe, she's coming. We'll be there in 30... okay, okay, I will. Okayyy damn it! Okay, love you, too. Muahh."

As soon as she hung up with Chris, Rosie looked at me with the brightest smile on her face. "We're going to take so many pictures and post them all on Instagram. Give your boyfriend a taste of his own medicine."

"Not my boyfriend." I argued, but she was already bouncing on her chair, signaling the wait staff to bring us our bills.

...

A small gasp left my lungs as Rosie and I walked into Chris' house with our hands clasped. Small gathering, my ass. It was a full-blown party. I leaned closer to my friend and asked her to never leave my side. She turned her face to me and nodded. Bringing our clasped hands up, she screamed, "You're stuck with me!" over the music.

The first thing I noticed was the blaring music. It was so loud that every time the beat dropped, the entire house vibrated, and my whole organs rearranged themselves. The second thing I noticed was the people. They were just there, in their own respective bubbles. Despite being packed in a tiny room with almost 40 people, every single one of them looked like they were where they belonged. Some of them were sitting on the couch cuddled up, some were playing Beer Pong, some were chatting animatedly, and others were simply bopping their head to the music. One thing they all had in common was the red cup they cradled in their hands.

No one was looking at another. I was the odd one out gawking at every one of them, etching them to my memory because who knew? I might be asked to describe one of them if something were to go wrong.

"Vee!" Rosie screeched, jerking me out of my staring game. Two girls were walking our way, and the one with short brown hair had a bigger smile on her face. That must be Vee.

Rosie led us to the quieter end of the hallway and introduced me to her friends, Sam and Vee. Rosie's boyfriend Chris and his friend, whose name I didn't catch, joined us after a while. We stood by the corner chatting for an awkward amount of time before the friend, whose name I didn't know, suggested that we go out to the backyard.

Chris and his friend went to the kitchen to get us drinks, and we walked out back and sat on the patio facing the house. When they got back, the friend made sure to sit next to me, and Rosie and her man shared a sneaky glance. Which was not so sneaky at all, especially since I caught it.

It was clear that they were setting the friend and me up. He was handsome, smelled good, and looked eerily like Ryan from the O.C., so I couldn't complain. But my heart was wriggling inside my chest, reminding me it had someone else inside it already.

My mind raced to Noah, and suddenly, my mood shifted. It was ridiculous, really. How could he just leave me hanging like that? I couldn't believe he would go an entire week without talking to me. Especially after my birthday and after he told me he loved me.

Was it really over between us? Was he tired of me already? Was I that difficult to love? I was just getting started with him. I wasn't ready to lose him yet. I had so much love inside of me to give, and it was only him I wanted to give it to. I had planned so much for us. I had dreamed about the day we would see each other for the first time. How I'd hug him and how he'd kiss me. I had hoped to get so many of my firsts from him. I had hoped-

"Right, Robbie?" Rosie asked, popping my daydreaming bubble and bringing me back to time.

"What?" I asked, startled.

"Nick was trying to give you a beer, and I told him you didn't drink." She said, pointing to Chris's friend sitting next to me.

Ah, Nick, that's what his name is.

"Oh, yeah, no, no, no, I don't drink. Thanks." I said, shooing Nick's outstretched hand that was holding a red cup filled with brownish liquid.

"Why not?" that was Nick with the abrasive question.

"Other than the fact that it tastes like bleach?" I deadpanned, looking him in the eyes.

"You've tried bleach?" he looked at me in terror.

"No."

"You've tried alcohol before?"

"No." I shook my head once again.

"You can't make a comparison between two things if you have tried none of them." He was laughing.

"What do you mean?" I knew exactly what he meant, but my brain was lagging, and I just couldn't come up with a clever comeback fast enough.

"You said 'alcohol tastes like bleach.' How would you know that if you've never tasted bleach?"

"Because I do." I shrugged lazily. I couldn't be more uninterested in his weird attempt at small talk.

He threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Okay, princess."

"Calm down champ, no pet names here."

He dropped his voice down. "Why? You got a man?"

I looked up at Rosie and nodded. Even if Noah wasn't my boyfriend, and even if he was actively avoiding me for whatever reason, I was a taken woman; he inhabited my brain.

...

Nick wasn't a terrible company, after all. Everyone had abandoned us at some point, and he and I had just stayed seated where we were, talking about almost everything. He got me bottled water from inside, and he was on his third cup of beer. Rosie and her boyfriend said they'd be right back and went inside the house thirty minutes ago. Both Nick and I knew better than to expect them back anytime soon, though.

Nick was a little older than us. He was a senior, due to graduate in a few months. He was working at a high-tech company already and was telling me about his new application that launched a week ago and how good it had been doing when the song Latch by Disclosure and Sam Smith came on.

"I love this song." I said, impulsively.

"Dance with me?" he said and stood up from the chair.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean to-" He pulled me up from my seat before I could finish my sentence and led me inside the house, through the back door. The makeshift dance floor was packed with bodies, and I was about to decline Nick's offer politely when he turned us back around to the door we had just walked through. He led me back out to the backyard, and he stood in front of me with a hesitant smile.

"Too many bodies." He said sheepishly, pointing back to the house with his thumb.

I nodded, smiling back. The music was loud enough to be heard from where we stood. He took my hands and started moving to the beat. I followed suit and laughed nervously.

"I don't usually dance." He rasped, leaning to my ear.

"Same." I smiled up at him.

"You sure about that?" he winked.

I shrugged and turned my back to him. He lightly placed his hands on my waist and pulled me close to his front. I didn't object; I just went with it. We swayed to the beat for a while, occasionally glancing at each other. He was a wonderful dancer, and his smell was intoxicating. He was very respectful and kept his hands appropriately still. He didn't wander around touching more of my body than I made available. I appreciated that a lot.

But I couldn't let myself go and enjoy the moment, because he was not Noah. At one point, it all got too overwhelming, and I detached my body from him. Needing to put space between us. Nick looked at me carefully, and He let me go without a fight. He just sat back in his chair and took a sip of his brown liquid. For the rest of the night, he simply watched me dance and sing along to multiple songs with a smile on his face.

Later that night, when he was helping me drag drunk Rosie up to our apartment, Nick asked me for my number. I told him I was seeing someone for the second time.

"This boyfriend of yours, does he treat you right?" He asked as he brought Rosie's limp hand to his shoulder.

I laughed dryly as I pulled my keys out of my purse. "He did."

I was struggling to insert the key into the doorknob because it was too dark. Nick came behind me and took the key out of my grasp. He stood so close to me again, for the second time in one night, and he unlocked the door with ease. "Here." He breathed, his breath fanning my neck, making the hair at the back of my neck stand. I kicked the door open and walked inside. He followed, carrying my drunk best friend.

"You can put her on the couch." I insisted, wanting him to leave immediately. I had been doing things that weren't me of me the whole day, and I didn't trust myself enough to have him stay in the house longer than he should. He did as I asked, and I walked him out to the door.

"Can I at least have your Snap?" He asked, defeated.

"You can add me on Instagram." I said, grinning. The guy was persistent. 

He took his phone out and made sure I followed him back before he left. Making me laugh at his stubbornness one last time.

After I changed into my pajamas and completed my nighttime routine, I sat on my bed and scrolled through my photo gallery. Rosie had mentioned something about giving him a taste of his own medicine, hadn't she? Maybe she was on to something.

Rosie and I had taken some pictures before we left for the party. We had also taken some on our way there. We even captured several during the party, granted they were blurry. There was one specific picture of me that Rosie took while we sat in the backyard that stood out. Nick was sitting next to me, one of his hands stretched behind me, clasping the head of my chair, and the other holding a red cup. Half of his body was cut so, only the hand that was outstretched could be seen in the photo. I was just sitting with a big, goofy smile, staring straight at the camera.

I sat up on my bed, zooming in on the picture, deliberating if I should do it. I was desperate. I wanted a reaction out of Noah. I didn't care if it was good or bad. I just needed him to break the stupid silence. I couldn't last one more day without hearing his voice. If anything, I knew that picture would get a reaction out of him. It looked like I was at a party with a man whose face wasn't visible. A man that wasn't Noah. If that didn't work, then I was hopeless.

As my thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing out a caption, my body tingled in thrill mixed with guilt. Noah's silence was so loud it bore a hole in my chest.

Tit for tat, my brain schemed.

Call him one more time, my heart pleaded.

My heart and brain were in a tug of war, and only one could claim victory.

I prepared a caption to go with my chosen picture. I miss you, don't call me. I swiped through the filters until I found the one that contoured my face the way I liked it. Then I did it. Without a second thought, I clicked Share, threw my phone under my pillow, and closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, I was being woken up by a hangover Rosie holding a teddy bear almost twice her size. I looked at her with sleepy eyes and fished my phone out from under my pillow to check the time.

It was 11:45 AM, but what got me smirking in victory was the flood of notifications lined up on my screen.

@Iamthenoah liked your post.

@Iamthenoah commented on your post: My girl.

Noah: Hey.

Noah: I miss u.

Noah: Mer,

Noah: You look beautiful. Always.

Noah: I'm framing the photo.

Noah: Baby, I'm sorry.

You have two missed calls from Noah.

Brain-1- Heart-0 But who was keeping score?

...

a/n- It's Monday! (AKA May and Noah day) 🎉 Hope everyone is doing well!

Have you guys been enjoying the story so far? If so, do share your favorite moments, please? I'd love to know.

Thank you for reading, voting, commenting, and sharing. It means the world to me. Have a great week! 💕💕

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