When He Drunk Dials

He will call you when you’re asleep, and he will be drunk –
slurred speech that is heavy like syrup, his words will be so sweet
your teeth will ache and your stomach will churn. Let him speak:
he will embarrass himself, and this is not for you. He has to quiet his ego,
remind himself that at one time he had a piece of you. When he tells you
how beautiful you are, say, “I know.” And when he tells you he
lost a good thing, you agree. The word vomit is going to
be slapped on heavy and thick; you’re going to feel it stick to the
inside of your throat. Keep swallowing. Never let his megalomania
silence you back into submission or nostalgia because he is going to
press your bruises into wounds. He will remind you of that movie you liked,
and the song you told him about – “It played in the bar tonight.”
He won’t mention his girlfriend’s name like it’s a secret he needs to take
to the grave. And she will pretend your number is not in his phone
under a generic name like “Joe,”
because sometimes life is much simpler when you’re ignorant. You
will not believe that. Say her name. Say it like you’re throwing a brick
through his damn window. Remind him of her golden hair. Remind him of
the way her laugh sounds like a song when she feels the rain on her nose. Tell him,
“You will not destroy her because you destroyed me.” Do not allow yourself to
care whether or not his ego wanders through the street starving,
sticking his hand out for any sort of penny to help him survive.
Your affection is worth gold, worth the heavy weight of treasure chests
lost within time and in age old legends. A penny for your thoughts,
he is begging, a penny for your time. But you’re bankrupt. Tell the story of
when you asked him to meet you for coffee, but he was always busy. Tell him
how you felt used when he only invited you over at midnight, after his roommate
fell asleep and the highway was empty. Remind him how he only spoke
when no other woman was around, when his hands were lonely,
when his hips ached like a young buck’s. Tell him that your lips are still pink
and plump like he left them, just like how your boyfriend likes them. When
his groan sounds like it hangs halfway between pleasure and turmoil, feel the
swell of all he stole come back to you. When he asks to see you, feel your
heart beat with the strength of a warrior. When he starts to cry, when he starts
to repeat, “I’m sorry,” because infinity will not grant him forgiveness, hang up.
When he calls back, ignore the call. When he calls again, turn off your phone.
Pull the blankets up over your shoulders and nuzzle his back, kiss each little
mark, freckle, and mole like they were God’s fingerprints and nothing less.

Published by


30 year old New Yorker.

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