Quackity picked up his phone to see nine missed calls from Schlatt as well as what seemed like a million messages from him. He sighed, knowing that if he didn't respond he'd only get spammed more.
He knew he should've blocked his ex months ago, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. Quackity felt a dumb obligation to keep Schlatt in his contacts. He told himself it was in case Schlatt needed someone to drive him home if the dumb goat got drunk or high or something.
But Schlatt was almost always drunk or high. And he always would call Quackity, talking about things that weren't real, things that didn't exist anymore. But most of all, he'd beg Quackity to take him back. It made Quackity sick.
He didn't want to hear his ex tell him over and over again that "I still love you" or "I'll be good this time, I swear." He didn't want to hear from his ex at all. But he kept the contact unblocked, letting the man text him and call him constantly. Like an idiot.
The phone rang. It was Schlatt. Obviously.
Quackity declined the call. He didn't want to hear Schlatt's voice.
He texted his ex.
"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"