I shouldn't have called.

And she shouldn't have answered.

But that's the way it is with us...we never stop.

We spent all night screaming and throwing words at each other and yet here we are again.

Back and forth like a fucking swinging door.

She tells her friends I'm the problem, I'm inconsiderate and that I'll never change.

And maybe she's right.

Maybe I'm just gasoline, trying to bum a flame to burn the whole place down.

I exhale sharply and run my hand through my hair. "I guess I'm the problem." I say in a low, raspy voice.   She doesn't turn around, she stays where she is.   "And you're Ms. 'Never Do No Wrong.'" I shake my head, a humorless laugh escaping me. "That's how it works, right?"   Silence.

I get up from the couch and move closer to her. "If I'm so awful, then why'd you stick around this long?"

Still nothing.

But I see her shoulders tense.

She hates it when I do this. When I point out the flaws in her perfectly written story.

The one where I'm the wreck and she's just the girl trying to fix me.

My gaze wanders to the whiskey, to her glass, which is right next to mine.

"And if it's the whiskey...why do you keep pulling it off the shelf?" I murmur.

Her breath hitches.

Just for a moment.

But I catch it.

Slowly, she turns to me.

There's fire burning in her eyes, but there's also something else behind them.

Something she'll never admit.

She hates that she can see half of herself when she looks at me.

I move closer again, so close that I can hear her heartbeat through the silence.

"You can say whatever you want. But we both know you'll always come back." I say quietly.

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

Because she knows I'm right.