“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“But you’re the only thing that’s keeping me here.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying you won’t live without me?”
She sighed into the phone. He could hear the almost-silent sobs and occasional sniffling.
“Do you know how fucked up it was when you called me that night at the party when you got drunk and pretended you were dying? How you were like feigning committing suicide, telling me you were falling off the railing? Don’t you know how many times I’ve thought about ending it? How many times I had to stop myself from thinking that way? And you just flippantly mention it like it’s no big deal. It’s a fucking big deal to me. Do you know how much I cried that night and how much I wanted to break up with you?”
He tried to say something but words failed to form in his mind. He knew what he was feeling—guilt—and that some of what she was saying, albeit true, was part of a performance, however real. And he tried to tell himself, she’s done this so many times, tried to make me feel guilty, and I always give in. But assuaging his suspicions did not come easily; Josh began to feel the reality of her feelings sink in like teeth in his flesh. She had told the truth.
It’s amazing how the world feels when you are drunk. As though the ground itself has taken ahold of you. Like you’ve jumped off a turnstile and each new experience is well, new. Objects and people take on a mirthful significance. It had felt like that. Like he was invincible. As though he could fall off railings without a scratch. How it inures us to our passions, dulls our senses, and invites unwelcome behavior, he thought.
“I know I fucked up. And I’ve been trying to make it up to you. You know how hard I’ve been trying these past few weeks to make you happy? Driving down to see you every other day to check up on you, so you wouldn’t be miserable at home? And staying with you, even hiding in your closet when your dad came home? Lying in bed with you, sometimes for hours, just fucking lying there and not doing anything when I just want to walk or go outside or just do something besides lie next to you? I just can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry,” he remarked.
“Josh, you can’t leave me like this. I don’t know how I’m going to wake up tomorrow. Maybe you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Cheryl, before I hang up, you have to promise me you won’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“I can’t make any promises, Josh.”
Josh almost groaned out loud in frustration. They had been having the same conversation for over four hours. But he could hardly hang up now. Sweat began dribbling down the right side of his forehead—he reached to open the window.
For what, what was it that he exactly owed to her? If there were a God, then he surely would forgive hanging up on her that moment. But their love was not falsifiable; it could not be proven false. But isn't the strong test of a relationship whether it can truly be tested? How could he empirically prove that he loved her?
For what, what was it that he exactly owed to her? If there were a God, then he surely would forgive hanging up on her that moment. But their love was not falsifiable; it could not be proven false. But isn't the strong test of a relationship whether it can truly be tested? How could he empirically prove that he loved her?
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