Need You Now

The red numbers on the digital alarm clock mocked me as I tried to go to sleep. It was past midnight and, as had been happening for the past month, I couldn’t get to sleep. After crying for hours, my mind would just be consumed with thoughts of him. No matter what I did, I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. And that just made me cry harder. I didn’t want to think about him. Not after everything that had happened. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. But I couldn’t help it. Everything reminded me of him and I just couldn’t fight it anymore.

Pushing the covers off of my body, I stumbled my way into the closet I had shared with him until a month ago. I flipped on the light switch before walking towards the far corner. I reached up on my tip-toes, reaching for the box at the very back of the upper shelf. I brought it down and carried it back into the room I had also shared with him up until last month. I turned on the lamp on the bedside table before sliding down onto the ground on his side of the bed. I unfolded the flaps of the box and pulled out every item that I had packed away. Each item brought back a new memory.

First was the fluffy panda bear. He had won it for me on our first date. It had been my first year of college. I still couldn’t believe that the hot guy in my class had asked me out. Rumours flew around the school and most girls gossiped about me, saying that he was just trying to get some and that he probably wouldn’t even show up. I had gotten so discouraged that I considered telling him something came up at the last minute, just so that I wouldn’t have to be the one that got stood up. But my two best friends managed to convince me that those girls were just jealous and that I should ignore them. So the night of our date, I spent hours in my closet with my two best friends, picking out the perfect outfit. I had been so nervous that I ended up being ready too early. Then I had to spend ten minutes pacing around my living room, wondering if he would even show up. But he had—right on time.

He had ended up taking me to the carnival that came through our town every year. I had been a bit disappointed that that’s where we were going, especially when I got into his car and saw the two teenage boys sitting in the back seat. I didn’t ask any questions, but once we got onto the fair grounds and he had paid for the four of us and the two boys ran off, he explained himself. He had planned to take me to dinner and a movie, but at the last minute his mum had made him take his younger brother and his friend to the carnival. So instead of cancelling on me, he had to change plans. I had smiled up at him and told him that I didn’t mind. We got on a few rides, but mostly just walked around the fair grounds and talked. He had sat next to me the entire college term but I had always been too scared to talk to him. Of course I didn’t tell him that, but as I got to know him, I chastised myself for that because if I had, I would have gotten to know the sweetest guy I had ever met in my life sooner. As we passed one of the booths that had tedious games, one of the workers hoodwinked him into playing the game. It was the simplest game possible—pick up a duck and the size of your prize depended on the colour dot underneath the duck. As his luck would have it, he ended up getting the smallest prize possible. He was pretty upset with himself for that, but I couldn’t help laugh at his expense. As a result, I had gotten the small panda-shaped stuffed animal.

There were still plenty of other items in the box, but instead of thinking back to when I had received each one from him, I just went straight to the bottom of the box and pulled out the massive envelope full of loose pictures of us. Each one of them had their own story. There were pictures of us at graduations. There were pictures of us at dances—his prom, my prom, and then all the other smaller balls and dances. There were pictures from the countless trips we took to London and Brighton. We spent so many summers there together with his family, my family, and sometimes even both. There were pictures of us at his parent’s 25th anniversary ceremony and party. Pictures of us at his performances in small clubs with his band and even one’s of us after he finished on stage, when he first made it big time.

Years of memories, all of them resting on the ground around me. I looked down at the last picture in my hand. It was a fairly recent picture—taken a little less than two months ago. We were out with a few friends at a club celebrating my 21st birthday. I had already had a bit too much to drink, but I had always been a happy drunk. In the picture, I was perched on his lap with my arms wrapped around his neck; his arms were around my waist and we were both smiling widely at the camera. I had been trying to convince him to let me have just one last drink, but he wasn’t having any of it. We were in the middle of one of our pointless squabbles when my brother’s girlfriend, Aimee, came over to us, camera at hand and told us to smile. We paused our bickering long enough to take the picture and after she showed it to us, we both agreed we looked adorable and just laughed at each other. That was the end of our bickering. I had pressed my lips to his cheek with a small kiss and told him that I loved him. A few days later, when Aimee and I were at Asda printing out the pictures from that night, she handed me a copy. I had instantly come home and framed it, setting it on our nightstand. We both looked happy. And a little less than two months ago, we had been.

But those years of happiness and good memories were now over. All because of one stupid mistake.

I bit down on my lip to prevent it from trembling. But when I looked back down at the picture, I realized it was blurry. Tears were pooling in my eyes and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I threw the last picture in my hand away from me, shoving the rest, which I had stacked in a neat pile beside me, until they were scattered all around me. A sob broke free from my lips as more continued to wrack throughout my entire body.

How could this have happened to us? We were perfect for each other. Sure, we had our ups and downs, but we were always meant to be together!

My thoughts continued straying in that direction. He and I had been together for so long. Everyone had expected us to last, to get married, start a family, and grow old together. But there was no chance that was happening now. Not after everything that happened a month ago. There just wasn’t any way we could possibly overcome this. It had been our biggest fight ever. And I just didn’t see us ever getting past this.

Unless…

I stared at the telephone that was lying on the floor just a few feet away. I had been staring at it earlier, contemplating the same thing I was contemplating now. I wiped at my eyes, getting rid of the haze that was obscuring my vision. I slowly reached for the phone, bringing it to my lap. I tapped my fingers on the screen, contemplating whether I should do what I was thinking. I would have been crazy to do it. I still remember the screaming match we had had a few weeks ago. “It’s over! Don’t ever expect to hear from me again!” I had screamed at him. But now…now I was sitting here, contemplating doing just that.

Maybe it was the exhaustion I felt. For a month I’ve been walking around like a zombie, not knowing what to do with myself now that he wasn’t in my life. Years together had made me grow used to him and now he wasn’t here anymore. I was alone. And it was only in the late hours of the night—such as right now—where I really let myself think about him. He was always on my mind of course, always on the back burner, but late at night, when I couldn’t fall asleep and his warm body wasn’t next to mine when I reached over, those were the moments where I let myself think about him. The good memories and even the bad. Every little habit and annoying quirk of his. And when I allowed myself to get lost in those thoughts, that was the only time I admitted to myself that I missed him—more than I probably should have.

But did he miss me? That was the real question.

He did what he did for a reason. Was it because he was bored with me after all these years? If so, would he even think about me now that we weren’t together? Did I even cross his mind at all?

One way to find out.

I bit the inside of my cheek before pressing a button on my phone, sliding the bar up to unlock it. I briefly glanced at the time…1:15 am. What if he wasn’t up? I bit my lip before shaking my head, jostling my thoughts into place and tapping away until his name was highlighted on my screen. Taking one deep breath I pressed send and then brought the phone to my ear.

His hand almost knocked the glass bottle over when he reached for it. He had lost count of how many times he had picked up the clear bottle and poured the amber coloured liquid into the small shot glass. He had been lying pityingly in his old apartment—the one he had had to beg his former landlord to lease out to him since he had been put out on the streets a month ago. He couldn’t manage to get his mind to shut off long enough for him to fall asleep. His thoughts were too occupied by the pretty brunette whom he had spent what felt like his entire life with. He knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about her, but he couldn’t help himself. It was his stupid mistake that had led them to where they are now. He had hurt her, and himself, in the worse way possible. He didn’t have the right to be thinking about her.
But that didn’t stop him from doing it.

He had tossed and turned in his bed long enough before he stumbled out of bed and walked into his kitchen. As had been happening for the past month, he rustled around the cabinet over his refrigerator until he came up with the beverage that would accompany him into the hours of the night. Then he hunkered down on the small kitchen table with the bottle and the small shot glass, drinking until the pain in his chest was numb.

The first shot was always taken for the same reason—pity. He had been dating the most wonderful woman for the past couple of years. She had been his school sweetheart. She was his first love, his true love, his only love. And because of one stupid mistake, he had destroyed the most beautiful relationship he had in his life. He had been an idiot and she had broken up with him. Since then, he hasn’t been able to get a grip of his life. He is living all by himself again, drowning in his own misery to the point where he can barely function at his job, and doing absolutely nothing with himself once he gets home from work. For that reason, he drank to get rid of the pity that made him stumble out of bed.

The whiskey burned his throat on its way down. Once he slammed the shot glass down on his table and tried to swallow enough spit to get rid of the burning sensation in his throat, the pity would be replaced by anger. First he would get angry with himself. He had been the one to make the mistake. It was because if him that he had lost her. And here he was like some pathetic little bum, drinking away his problems. The anger stage is where he had the most shots. After he blamed himself, he blamed her. Why did she have to break up with him? He had apologized countless times, he told her he didn’t mean for any of it to happen, and he told her he loved her. He didn’t want them to end, but she had ended it. It was her fault that they were in that position. Why hadn’t she forgiven him? They always got into arguments but ended up working through whatever it was. Why couldn’t she do that this time? It was because she didn’t want to work to save them.

But he knew that wasn’t true either. As he slammed his glass down for possibly the seventh time, the sadness would set in. He knew he was the only one to blame and that she had absolutely no fault in what happened. And if the memory of her hurt filled eyes didn’t break his heart; that thought certainly did. He was the only one to blame and he couldn’t take any of it back. There wasn’t anything he could do or say to her to get her to come back to him. He had hurt her way beyond repair, he had lost her forever.

He had accepted that. Or at least he kept telling himself he had accepted that. Because no matter how hard he tried to not think about her, he did. She was constantly on his mind. When he woke up in the morning to the cold empty spot next to him, when he got ready for work and didn’t see a single feminine object in his bathroom or closet, when he was sitting in one of the many pointless meetings he always complained to her about, and more importantly, when he came home from a long day of work to an absolutely empty apartment. It was in those moments that he realized how much he truly missed her. And in those moments he wondered if she missed him. He knew it was hopeful of him to think she would miss him, but he couldn’t help wondering. Did she constantly think about what he was doing the way he did about her? Did she think about how he was holding up without her or if he was thinking about her the way he wondered?

Every cell in his body ached for the answer to all those questions to be yes. Yes, she did miss him; she did wonder what he was doing, how he was without her, if he ever thought about her. He knew that was all wishful thinking but that didn’t stop him from thinking it. He looked up from his hands, which were fumbling with the shot glass in front of him, and to his front door. He knew she still had a key to his old apartment. He pictured her sweeping in to his apartment in that graceful manner she had about her. He envisioned her walking in and telling him she can’t take it anymore. He hurt her, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t get him out of her mind. She wants him by her side; she can’t take another night without him to hold her in his arms.

Yeah right, he thought to himself. All wishful thinking. Nothing you can do to get her back.

Unless…

His eyes slanted as he glanced at the electronic device resting just a few inches from his fingers. He had tossed his phone on the kitchen table when he came home from work, knowing full well there would be no one that would need to get a hold of him. And now his fingers were itching to just grab up the device and call her. He was just drunk enough to do it, but there was something holding him back. Somewhere in his drunken stupor, he must have realized that he had no right to call her. She had probably moved on with her life—it wouldn’t surprise him if she had. And if he called her—that would just be like adding insult to injury. She had told him, plain and clear, that they were over and that he shouldn’t expect to hear from her ever again. In his fit of anger, he had yelled that he also wouldn’t be calling her ever again. So he couldn’t call her.

He threw his head back as he did another shot, the whiskey burning its way slowly down his throat. When he slammed the glass back down, he stared intently at his phone. The time had just switched to 1:15 am when he decided to hell with it and picked it up to call her. But before he could, it rang…and her name flashed on his screen.

“Hello?”

My breath hitched in my throat at the sound of his voice. In the time it took the phone to ring three times, I had convinced myself he was asleep and wouldn’t answer his phone. Clearly I hadn’t been expecting him to answer. My plan at that point was just to call his phone, wait until it went to voicemail and then soak in the radiance of his smooth voice. He was a heavy sleeper, so I knew that the sound of his phone wouldn’t have woken him up. But he had answered, which means he hadn’t been asleep. His voice sounded a bit slurred, so I knew he was drinking. My heart squeezed in my chest at the thought of him sitting by himself in his apartment, nursing a bottle of liquor.

“Adam?” My voice came out strained and mangled.

“Scarlett?”

I couldn’t help it. There were so many emotions coursing through me and the sound of my name tumbling off his lips made me crack. A sob broke free from my lips, followed by a few more until I was full out crying on the phone to Adam. All because he had said my name the way he used to. And because I missed him. And because I needed him next to me, holding me, comforting me and telling me that everything would be alright. That the pain would eventually go away and that I’d be able to get over him.

“Scar, baby, please don’t cry,” he slurred on the other end.

I pressed me eyes shut tightly, allowing a few more tears to cascade down my cheeks. I didn’t even bother correcting him when he called me ‘baby’. I wasn’t his baby anymore…but it felt good to hear him say that. My heart stuttered unevenly in my chest as I hiccupped quietly, listening to his breathing on the other side. Suddenly I felt very stupid. In a moment of loneliness and weakness I had called him, not even expecting him to answer and now I didn’t know what to say to him since he had answered. So instead I sat there in silence, sniffling every once in a while.

I don’t know what I had expected to happen in that moment when he answered his phone, but this silence was definitely not it. The silence was worse than anything he could have possibly said. “Adam,” I croaked out again, not being able to take the silence any longer. I was just going to tell him to forget I had called and hang up, but he said the one thing that would keep me on the line.

“I miss you,” he slurred out.

My heart skipped a beat before hammering full force in my chest and then squeezing inside my ribcage. He missed me? After everything he did, after all the tears he had caused me to shed, after the countless hours I spent up, not being able to sleep, and he missed me? A part of me wanted to be mad at him—he wasn’t supposed to miss me. In fact, it would have made my life so much easier if he didn’t miss me—if he had moved on. Because then I would know that there was no hope for us and that it was silly for me to miss him. It would give me a reason to move on with my life.

But instead, I found myself sighing with relief. He missed me. That means that I did mean something to him. All those years we spent together weren’t just erased from his memory like I had thought.

“I miss you too,” I found myself whispering into the line.

“You do?” he asked. His tone sounded surprised, but he sounded much more sobered up.

I nodded my head despite the fact he couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I said, the word coming out more as a breath rather than form. “A lot.”

“Scar, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” he said. His voice only held a slight trace of a slur now—I could understand everything he was saying. “I’ve been thinking about you so much. And I was just about to call you.”

My heart squeezed again. “You were?”

“Yeah, I miss you. I was an idiot. I never meant the things I said. You have to know that. Please, I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I miss you near me and I miss your smile, and your face, and your smell, and your hugs, and…just…you,” he rambled, parts of what he was saying not making sense, others making too much sense.

My breath hitched in my throat. “I think about you all the time too Adam,” I mumbled.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he said, his voice now choking in his throat.

He’s crying?!? Adam’s never cried in front of me…ever.

“Adam,” I whimpered.

“Please, tell me what I can do to get you back. I miss you. I need you in my life. It’s not the same without you,” he croaked out.

My own tears stung at my eyes and rolled gently down my cheeks at his words. I shook my head, my heart clenching at the thought of what I was going to say. “I don’t know if you can have me back Adam. The things you said to me,” I trailed off.

“I know! I know! I was an idiot for ever saying those things. Scarlett, you have been the best thing to happen to me, you were the one consistent thing in my life. Please, there has to be something.”

I bit my bottom lip. I wanted nothing more than to forgive him. To take him back and continue on with our lives as if that fight hadn’t happened. As if we hadn’t just spent the past month away from each other. But the things he accused me of, the things he called me—our argument was still seared into my brain. “I don’t know.”

“But, but, I need you,” he whispered in a last attempt. “I love you.” I could practically hear his heart breaking with the possibility that this could really be it, that he could forever lose me.

And at that thought, something within me snapped. I didn’t want him to lose me forever. We had spent so many years building our relationship. We had shared so many memories together, most of which were still scattered all around me. There was still so much more in store for us. Because I would much rather spend my life arguing and making up with Adam than spend one more minute with this ache in the hollow space where my heart was thumping. I’d rather hurt with him, than not have him at all. I was telling him that I wasn’t sure if I could take him back, but I knew that wasn’t true. I loved him and I needed him in my life too.

I released a sigh, knowing I had kept him waiting in silence for long enough.

“I love you too Adam,” I whispered into the line. “And I need you…now.”