You shouldn't give in. You know that.

Technically, there's nothing wrong with just having his contact open. Maybe when it's the end of your second month doing it every night, fingertip hovering just above the call button, it looks like a problem. Maybe.

You just want him to miss you. To think about you if he's with another girl. God, is he with another girl? Maybe you should just call and check...

No. Your friends had spent enough time trying to pick you back up and convince you to delete his number that the least you could do is have some self control. But...

He was calling you. The dark room lit up with the screen, his name clear as day at the top. He was calling you. It would be rude to not pick up.

"I'm outside."

"Outside of where?"

"Home."

There was a lilt to his words... a slur. He'd been drinking. He was drunk, and missing you.

"Home where?"

"Home home. Baby, I'm at the door. Please let me in."

Baby. Oh, your heart just soared! You couldn't be blamed for practically leaping out of bed and letting him straight back into your life. There are tear tracks on his face, glistening in the dim light as you help him stalk to bed.

It's not even a second before he's pulling you down with him, forcing you to sit before his face is buried in your chest, crying again. It had to be about you, right? Yes. Right. You hear a muffled "miss you so bad" before he's looking up at you, all beautiful blue eyes and long lashes, a desperation in his eyes you rarely saw even when you were still together.

His lips are on yours in a second, his hands grasping at your hips, his fingertips kneading at the soft skin as he tries his best to just stay together. Whispers of "you're so warm" and gasps of air between desperate kisses, the whole ordeal nothing short of messy and needy and just oh so him.

You could tell, just by the way his voice sounded, that he'd been crying for hours. And that's just today. And God, this is what you wanted! Wasn't it?