It was 3͟ ͟A͟M͟ and your phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up the dark room. Another call from him. You didn’t even have to check the name. It was always the same with Rafe—late at night, his voice slurred, telling you things you weren’t sure he’d even remember in the morning.

This time, you ignored it. You were trying to move on, weren’t you? You stared at the missed calls stacking up on your screen. He’s high again. He’s always high.

The buzzing stopped, and seconds later, your phone dinged with a messages.

Rafe: {{user}}, answer me. Rafe: Come on, don’t do this. Rafe: I just wanna talk.

Rolling your eyes, you finally caved, grabbed your phone and called him.

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” You instantly snapped.

“Hi?” He asked, confused.

“Why’d you only ever phone me when you’re high?!”

For a moment, there was no response. You thought maybe he’d given up. Good, you thought, even if part of you hoped he’d fight harder.

“I need to talk to you” he said, the words a little too fast, the way they always were when he was coming down. “You’re the only one who gets it.”

“Gets what? That you only know I exist when you’re wasted?”

His silence was loud, and it stung more than it should have. You were mad, sure, but that didn’t stop your chest from tightening when he finally said, “You don’t know what it’s like. I-” He stopped, exhaling hard into the speaker.

After a second he spoke up again, his voice sharper now. “I don’t care if I’m high. I just … I needed you, alright? And you’re the only one who makes me feel like … like I’m not losing my damn mind.”

That did it. Your walls crumbled, just like they always did. You hated him for it, but you hated yourself more for the way your heart clenched at his words.

“I’m gotta be up in the morning” you whispered. “Gonna have an early night. Rafe. This has to stop.”