SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...the A3200 (A Vignette) - December

I sigh and lean back on the sofa. It's my break. I should be relaxing right now.

But I still go through it in my head –

I bring the phone to my ear. "Murph?" It's almost 2 AM but I stayed up. He was supposed to hear back by now. He promised he'd call when he finished with the "soirée" thing.

"Hi, Tommy."

"How was the dinner?" I ask, yawning. I'm half asleep.

"It was...good." His breath is steady, slow, and paced.

I chuckle. "Well, don't leave me hanging, luv. The anticipation's killing me." I swing my legs out of bed and lean forward. "Tell me. Did you win?"

"No." His breath goes ragged and every big breath sounds like a handful of little ones.

I stop. "Murph – "

"I'm alone, I promise."

That doesn't matter to me. "Murph – "

He gasps. Like the air around him's just turned cold. But Murph's breathing remains that way. Every word struggles to come out, his voice muffled by what I assumed was his hand. "I t-thought I...I did it, Tommy."

My hands shake. "Murph – "

"I though I could've w-won."

And then he begins crying.

Except this boy wasn't video calling me. He was on the phone. Seeing his face wasn't the worst of it, though I thought actually seeing his face right now would be way worse.

But still.

Murph's sobbing. Gasping for air. Saying things like

"I tried so hard!"

and

"Why wasn't it good enough?!"

and after an hour, I still didn't know what to do. I couldn't see him. Touch him. For all I knew, he was crying against the door to his hotel room, which he so eagerly showed me hours before while telling me about the butterflies in his stomach. I helped pick out what he was going to wear. He air-kissed me goodbye with a nervous smile on his face, dimples showing.

When he finished, Murph says something, and then hangs up.

It was after 4AM, and I couldn't go back to sleep.

And I've never felt so fucking helpless before.

I open my eyes and unlock my phone. The finalist's proposals are still onscreen. Because I've been wondering why he didn't win, too.

Like, I didn't think the design he came up with was that great. It looked like something that belonged in the East End of London. It had that industrial feel about it. But I read through the proposal.

All 66 pages.

And if there's one thing Murph isn't, it's sloppy.

Like, three of the entries were just different types of glass boxes. One was a car park that had some metal cover over the sides to hide the insides. That's the one that won. One was a parking lot with a strip mall on one end.

Those ones could've gone anywhere in the world.

But his couldn't.

"Tom."

My head snaps up and I'm washed over with grogginess. "What," I say, glaring at a coworker I never bothered to learn the name of.

"You're break's over." They leave.

I stand up and look at my phone one more time. Murph hasn't messaged me all day. There was a morning message he wrote out before going to bed, but it was short. Shorter than the last ones he's sent out.

It basically said nothing.

That just bothers me. To no end.

My talkative, oblivious, smart, cute boyfriend is tormenting himself.

And he isn't telling me the full reason why.