Getting back

“We just—”

“Just what Hanni?” You say with a shaking voice full of desperation.

“We just need a break.”

Your heart does that thing where it slows, so much so your head goes woozy and time seems to freeze.

And she says your name as if she didn’t just rip the vocal chords out of your throat.

“Is that what you want?” You ask.

“It’s what we need,” she says after a while. “We— we can’t be apart, but when we’re together, it’s like we’re suffocating each other. Like we’re walking on threads.”

“We didn’t even fight last night”

“We sat on my couch for 6 hours. We barely talked, barely looked at each other.”

Your voice goes thin. “I don’t want to lose you Hanni.”

“But we’re losing ourselves. I— I don’t even know how to be me anymore.”

You try to push whatever it is you need to out, to beg, to apologize, to tell her you love her. But the line stays silent.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” She says.

“Then why?”

“I think that’s what we have to figure out.”

Your bed feels like thorns.

“It’s late. I’ll call you. When I do. Figure it out,” she says when the silence feels too close.

“Han—,” but the line is already dead and the tears have already started.

You look at the phone, now just a phone and not a 7 inch box burning a hole into your heart. It’s 2:52 in the morning, and you want to call her back. But you don’t. Instead, you do what you always do. Lay there.

And the blackness is painful but familiar.

No, not blackness, you realize. Because your brain is doing that thing it does. In the back of your mind, you can almost see it. A little timer, dropping in ticks like acid burning through a beaker.

You’ve been to the doctor about it. They say it’s just a psychological response, something your mind does when your stressed, or excited, or anxious; when you’re waiting for something. It’s something your brain does to give yourself some sense of control, to not have to wait in agony. They say it’s not accurate— but it is. Every single time.

I’ll call you. When I do. Figure it out.

2 weeks, 3 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes.

That’s when she’ll call.

A near 3 weeks. You’ve not gone 48 hours without talking to her since, well, you’ve met her.

You don’t sleep tonight

You didn’t even check who was calling when you answered. It was 11:11. She always called at 11:11.

“Morning,” Hanni said.

“What happened to not calling? I thought we called too much,” you teased.

“You don’t seem that mad, you’re smiling!”

“How would you know?”

“I can hear it.”

“You can hear me smiling?”

“Of course I can. I missed your voice.”

“I called you last night.”

“That doesn’t count, I was walking home alone.”

“So?”

“So it doesn’t count. What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“Perfect, you’re free!”

“No, I’m cleaning.”

“I want to see you.”

You looked around your living room, littered with hoodies and an empty coffee mug. That TV needed dusting too. Plus that bookshelf was definitely not organized.

“I’ll be there in 10.”

It’s 11:11. You can barely close your eyes, lest you see the timer, still mockingly counting down the 2 and a half weeks before Hanni calls.

She hasn’t called you at this time in over 2 months, and today would be no different, you’re on ‘a break’ after all. Your timer confirms it. Hanni won’t call you until it ends. Still, you can’t help but stare at your phone, hoping it buzzes. The Sun shines through your apartment windows, softened by the blinds you’ve kept drawn for the past who knows how long.

You throw your phone down on the couch, standing up and kicking the takeout box you still haven’t thrown out from last night. It’s still on the floor. Because apparently you keep takeout boxes on the floor now.

You keep replaying the conversation, the NOT breakup in your head. Over and over. We’re suffocating each other. We’re losing ourselves.

You love Hanni; Hanni loves you. You know that, you know in your hearts very cells that it’s true. So why? What good would taking a break do? She says she’s losing herself, that she doesn’t know who she is anymore. So why couldn’t you help her with that? You close your eyes.