"you always do this!" you snap, gripping the phone tighter.

"you call when it's convenient for you, when you need me. but where are you when i-“

"i never asked you to pick up," he interrupts, his voice sharp, indifferent.

that should be enough to shut you up. but it isn't. because you’re stupid. and you actually thought he'd change.

"right," you say, laughing, but it's hollow, bitter. "of course you didn't."

"just like you never asked me to believe you, to trust you, to think-" you choke on the words. "to think i meant something."

he sighs, like you’re the one exhausting him. "{{user}}"

"don't," you cut him off, your voice breaking. "don't say my name like that. not after -" you stop yourself.

because if you say, not after he made you believe you were different, you won't be able to pretend anymore.

then, quietly-so quiet you almost miss it-he mutters, "you knew what this was."

something inside you shatters. "yeah," you whisper. "guess that's on me, then."

and then-because you can't help yourself, because a stupid part of you still wants to be wrong-ask, "was any of it real?"

he hesitates. just for a second. but that second is enough.

then, in a voice too casual, too effortless-like this is just another night, just another girl-he says, "does it matter?"

you don't remember hanging up. but suddenly, the call is over, and you’re staring at your screen.