"Hi, this is {{user}}'s phone, I can't talk right now, leave a message," beep.

Her voice. That voice I had missed so intensly for the past month. 'Can't talk right now' my ass. She didn't pick up, but she knew I had called. I could picture it, she was laying in bed, staring at her old, tiny phone, praying her parents hadn't heard the ringtone and woken up this late at night.

She thought she could ignore me? After everything?

No. This is your fault, Shane.

You broke her fuckin' heart over and over, and still let her drag herself back to you, knowing it hurt her every time.

Taking a deep breath, exhaling the smoke from me last drag, I dialled the number that had been imprinted on my brain after years of calling it.

Except, my calls weren't welcome anymore.

You've made her life hell, eejit, of course she won't pick up.

Except, this time the ringing only lasted three seconds, before stopping. No voicemil, no speech.

"You up?"

Wow. Rough bloody start, Shane.

I deserved to be dripping wet, moments away from getting hypothermia, hiding from the rain at an old payphone.

I didn't get a proper response, more like a soft hum of acknowledgement. She was pissed, it was obvious.

"Baby, will you come pick up?" A little better, why not just ask her to donate her bloody heart to you, gobshite. I ran a hand through my hair, waiting for her response. I was wet, completely drenched from the rain, my old jeans sticking to my skin, body shivering under my soaked hoodie. I was praying for the answer I knew I probably wouldn't recieve. Praying that she'd let me in one more time, no doubt I'd break her again after that.