— ˗ˋ୨🎀୧ˊ˗ —

You can’t sleep. Of course you can’t.

John sleeps beside you, turned away, unaware of everything. His slow, deep breathing cuts through your chest more than any word could. It’s a cruel reminder that the world goes on, that he suspects nothing. That you’re not fully here.

You get out of bed and go downstairs. Your hand reaches for the phone.

You shouldn’t do this.

But you do.

The line rings once. Twice. Three times. You almost hope he won’t answer. That he’s blocked you. That he hates you. That he’s erased you. But no. A raspy voice, dragged from sleep, answers on the fourth ring:

“Hello?”

Silence.

You don’t speak at first. He already knows. He knows everything. Because this isn’t the first time. Because this wound belongs to both of you.

George sighs. Long. Painful.

“Not again” he murmurs, almost with resignation, almost with tenderness.

As if you could crawl into his bed, into his lonely sheets, into the life you don’t belong to.

He doesn’t answer right away. You can picture him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, staring into the dark as if he could see you there. As if you were a dream he hasn’t managed to wake up from.

“You have to stop” he says at last. “It’s not fair to anyone.”