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Pen Your Pride

A Week After

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A Week After

You've ignored going North, South, and East because you chose Wes. I applaud you for your good sense of direction. Unfortunately I'm still trying to determine which way is up, so i'm busy being poetically hipster at the moment. Or in short, thanks for calling, but I'm not at home, so if it's a matter of life and death please leave me a message after the beep. If not, well, scram and skedaddle.”

BEEEEEEEEEEEP.

“...Wes, I know all I ever left you were crappy messages about how you should watch the latest How I Met Your Mother episode or how you should help me do my homework, and I have never, in our entire ten years of being best friends, asked you how you were doing. And fuck I should have, because now...

Now it's too late.

I told myself...that I wouldn't cry...but damn it you jack-ass.

Do you know how it feels, to call your phone and have it go to your voice mail, knowing that it's the only thing that I'll ever hear your voice say now? Hell, do you know how it felt when your mother called me and told me what you did? You're...an ass, you know. And they told me to stop being so angry, to stop talking to you in my head, but I couldn't, because you were everywhere. I couldn't sleep, and I was stuck hearing your voice in my head. I was stuck with these conversations we had, and with these conversations we should have had, and it got so confusing because I didn't know who was who anymore. I didn't know if it was me talking to you, or you talking to me, because you were saying things I remember us talking about and things I realized I should have told you when I got the chance.

And that's the thing that makes me want to punch myself as much as I want to punch you: I had tons of chances. You...you always called in the middle of the night or early in the morning. And I never understood why. I...I never understood why. And I got mad at your for it. For waking me up. I...didn't answer. I fell asleep on you. I...

Fuck I said I wouldn't cry, but you fucking jack-ass didn't you ever think of what I would feel if you fucking killed yourself? What would happen to me? To the people you left behind?

We're all so lost, Wes. We don't know what to do. We don't understand why. We always thought you were fine, you were as annoyingly obnoxiously charming as you always were, then suddenly, you fucking overdose on fucking sleeping pills and – and just – and –

God I'm so fucking angry at you!

And...fuck it won't stop...I fucking don't understand. I just don't understand. And I've been trying to, but all I can think about is how it's all my fault, how if I just answered you whenever you called me, I could have...

Click.

- - - -

You've ignored going North, South, and East because you chose Wes. I applaud you for your good sense of direction. Unfortunately I'm still trying to determine which way is up, so i'm busy being poetically hipster at the moment. Or in short, thanks for calling, but I'm not at home, so if it's a matter of life and death please leave me a message after the beep.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

“Sorry about that, that wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be letting things go. They said it was important that I do this, so I can forgive myself, and forgive you, and everyone can move on. Mr. Dalton has everyone doing it, told us to leave messages for you, for things we didn't get to say. And hearing your voice again when it went to that stupid voice mail recording you made, it just made something snap.

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