Digestible

“Hey.”

“Hi.'“
“Don’t ask why I called; I don’t know why. Can you do that?”

“Okay.”

That’s what I thought. The least you can do.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, getting ready to go to the gym. You?”

“Oh no… can you not do that?”

“What do you mean, I always go to the gym?”

I fell victim to the flashbacks of him threatening to cut me off after a full day of me berating him and speaking lowly of him on his birthday. I deserved it. Who would sit there and allow someone to talk so poorly of them? But I did it out of a place of hurt, and I wanted him to bandage me up desperately. I remember begging him not to leave me on the phone with that statement. I began to grow stomach cramps and sweat profusely. 

“Yeah, but can you please not tonight? Seriously. Not tonight, not right now.”

“I haven’t gone in like two days.”

“Great! So what’s one more?”

Sighs. “ Hura, what is it that you really want?”

“I told you not to do that. I told you not to ask why I called.”

“I didn’t; I am asking what it is you want from me. I thought you hated me?”

“I do. I truly do. But your voice is the one that I wanted to hear. I don’t know why. Please don't think much about it. Something compelled me to reach out to you. I hope you are not going through anything traumatic right now because if you are, I will not be a shoulder to cry on.

“ I often fantasize about you.”

“In what way?”

He did not sound convinced.

“Being hurt. It brings me some form of enlightenment.” 

“You don't mean that.”

He was right; I did not mean that. But I meant something equivalent to that. I am glad he saw through it. I felt like I was looking for quarters in between every crevice of my couch.

“And I promise that I have moved on. I don't think about you in that way anymore.”

“I believe you.”

It was obvious to us that we were lying to each other.  But his lie did not have jagged edges. 

“Do you?”

“Yeah. After what I did to you, I am surprised you still talk to me. Where are you right now?”

“Can you please not go to the gym?”

At the time, I wanted to appear mysterious. But it was blatant that I was not in the midst of intimacy with someone else.  I believed that it was my only way of hurting him. My only way of evoking some pain within him was to have sex with another man and enjoy it with the new guy just as much as I did with him. Which would make him a faint memory of my past, just like the other girls did to him. During our better times, he often discussed his insecurity with me after we shared 2-3 bottles of Pinot Noir. He told me that he constantly felt like women sexualized him. When I cared, I reminded him he was so much more than that. Now, I would tell him that he was onto something.  

“Hura, we’re not even talking about anything.”

“That’s because you’re not saying anything interesting. Can you use your context clues? Can you figure out why I called? Obviously, I didn’t call you for no reason.”

“Yeah, I know that, but I haven't gone to the gym in two days; I want to go to the gym. I can call you after I finish?”

“No. Please don’t go.”

He sighs. I was surprised he did not just hang up the phone on me mid-sentence. In fact, I was bewildered that he was entertaining me as much as he was. There was no incentive for him to keep the conversation going with me. He was never honest about his intentions with me and always left me wondering. It was a personal choice. 

“How is Serena?”

“She is alright; I see her about once every other week at the gym, where we talk briefly. She is no longer with that guy that I told you about. I do not know why she rushed into that relationship.”

“Was he cute?”

I ask to only evoke emotion within him. I am sure he was not cute. 

“I never knew what he looked like. She only ever posted his arms; he was tatted up.”

Why was he so honest about her? I honestly did not like her. I thought as time lapsed, I would feel less inclined about her. However, he apparently needed to get that off his mind. It was apparent early on when I met Adrien that being in a relationship was the best thing he believed he could be involved with. Early on, I knew the girl he would end up with would not be me. I just wanted to be proved wrong for once.

“Oh. That sucks.”

It was evident that I still loved this man for reasons unknown. It was not like he swept me off of my feet. He could have been more interesting. Or funny. He single-handedly ruined my soul, and I was his accomplice. I knew what he was doing, but let him do it anyway. I was willing to raise the dickens for that man at the time, even if it meant the cost of my sanity. Sure. Fair enough trade in my eyes. And a side of what else? 

“Yeah, but the most interesting thing is, she would post my face and all when she was with me, without a title or anything.”

Oh. You must be so flattered. Do not treat yourself like you are some hot commodity. “Without a title or anything”. How pretentious can you be? Thank God we were on the phone, and he could not see the emotion swell up in my eyes. 

“Yeah, that is pretty interesting. I wonder why?”

I knew why. 

“I am also going to therapy.”

My face was wet by this point, and my body began overheating. I put my foot on the wall to regulate my temperature. I wish I could tell him to go to hell, but if I wanted that to come to fruition, all I needed to do was appear in his vicinity. As I lay in his anguish, I lightly touched my pelvic area. It was freshly shaved. I put a specialized oil on it to prevent ingrown hairs and razor burns. The oil had always made my skin velvety and smooth to the touch. I briefly wondered what I would taste like against his tongue. Not a single sense erupted from my body with that thought. I missed that feeling. 

I thought about inviting him over and seducing him out of spite. But I knew the only person who would be hurt was myself. 

“Really? That is good to hear; what made you go to therapy?”

“You always told me that I should. Also, I am getting older now, and I figured I needed help. I want to work on my relationships with people… particularly with women…”

Oh. So what was I? Just chopped liver? He lingered on his response as if he was waiting for my approval. All I could do was stew about it. I hated him so much. Despite his careless of my feelings, he appeared to care what I thought about him. That always intrigued me. He was older than I was. 

“Wow. I am actually kind of irritated that you decided to go to therapy now.”

I still do not regret that response. 

“What? So, now I can’t do better for myself?”

“No, it is not that.”

And it was not that. I did not want us to be equal in our healing journey that he ignited, which left me significantly scarred. He did not bat an eye that I was crying myself into delirium for him. In fact, he would have consistently scarred me if I did not decide for myself to walk away. If you ask me, he deserved a lifetime of confusion and rejection, not forgiveness and a happy ending. Or at least I felt as if I was entitled to it first. But, knowing that he and I were on equal playing fields. I felt as if my team was losing. I could tell he was listening to me blankly with a freckle of satisfaction. 

“My therapist is Black, too. I like her because she gets out of character and curses at me when she is explaining something. She gives me homework which I do not like.”

“What does she give you as homework?”

I feel like killing myself. How would I do it? By pills? I do not have a gun. I think very often of driving off a cliff. Maybe I can do that? But there is no nearby elevation in this goddamn city. 

“Like little worksheets. It has questions like “What are your triggers?” and “What do you struggle with?” If I knew my triggers, I would not be seeing her in the first place, you know what I mean?”

Ugh. Very barbaric and juvenile way of thinking. 

“That is the point; it can also double as a tool to show you what you do not know about yourself.”

“Yeah. I suppose. Only time will tell”.

Oh? I love that adage. I briefly remembered the last time I saw him and the sprouting gray hairs from his scalp. I began to think about him like someone thinks about their childhood dog and how they are slowly becoming more deaf. I grew sentiment towards him. 

“It is good that you are in therapy, though. I like to hear it”.

I actually meant it this time. 

I softened my response. What am I doing with this man? Why am I on the phone with him? Why did I feel obligated to call him?

“You’ve been going to the gym?”

“Please don’t go to the gym tonight, Adrien.”

“I won’t. I am still feeling sore. I am actually massaging my shoulders right now. I can feel a knot”.

 He winced on the phone. I used to love hearing him do such an instinctive primal thing. 

“But yes, I still go to the gym about five times a week.” 

I say in a voice that he is familiar with. 

“Five times a week? That is good shit. What do you do?”

I initially got into the gym because he was enamored entirely about it. It was all he ever wanted to talk about. In fact, it is what made him and Serena click so well. She was a gym rat herself. She was much smaller than me. Despite him saying that he preferred curvier women, there was no way I would compete with the traditional itty bitty. 

“I have been doing a lot of cardio; I am trying to slim down... I am debating if I should drink some wine; it is already kind of late.”

I did not want to talk about the gym, despite my new dedication to the gym. It still remained not being my favorite topic of discussion. I needed a change of subject to something more subjective. I needed the ball back in my court. 

“Drink it”

“Will you stay up to keep me company?”

“Yeah”

“What time have you been going to bed?”

“I have been going to bed kind of late recently. Which is why I have been going to the gym later in the night.”

“Do you have wine that you can drink with me while we are on the phone?”

“Yeah, but it is not open though.”

“Can you open it and drink it with me?” 

I hoped he treaded cautiously with my choice of wording.

“You want me to?”

“Yeah, I do.”

I felt weirdly fuzzy and giddish. 

“Okay, one second. Let me open it. What are you drinking? Pinot Grigio?”

“Pinot Noir.”

“Your favorite.”

“Wow, I am surprised you remembered.”

“I remember the important things.”

Despite us being 20 minutes away. I felt him next to me. I smelled his cologne. A crest of sensuality overcame the conversation. If we were in person, we would be at the point in the night where I would have placed a pillow on his lap and laid my head on it while he eradicated any remaining wine left in the bottles we bought. You would always find myself giggling in this position with him. I felt so desired. I do not have the most graceful teeth, but I always hoped he thought I looked pretty with my wine-blushed skin and lower inhibitions. He would have placed his hand under my shirt at any second after flicking my lip a few times and softening his voice and gaze. I began to touch my pelvic area with more intention as his voice turned to silk in my ears. I still hated him, but I also wanted to feel good. 

“Why have you been going to bed late?”

“I don’t know. Just up thinking.” 

I knew the reasons why. He has been lonely. He is turning 30 years old and still lives with his parents. He has no friends. He has no girls. He is alone with his demons. I wanted to kiss him on the cheek ever so softly. I felt myself reverting to his high. I let it happen. I felt nice to feel again. I knew the outcome of him, and I trusted myself this time. 

We continued to talk until 4 am in the morning, just like our better days. It felt like we were kids again, despite us nearing 30 years old and meeting each other at 22 and 27. During that phone call with him, I felt like a blue hummingbird flying in place on such a pretty and operative summer day. 

I have been waiting to hear from him since.