~Dan~
I was still sitting on the fucking floor with my back against the door when my phone buzzed in my pocket. The screen lit up through the denim, Mom. Of course. Because the universe wasn't done kicking me in the nuts tonight.
I let it ring twice, staring at the name like it might change if I glared hard enough. Then I answered, voice wrecked from crying.
"Mom."
"Daniel." Her voice was soft, the way it got when she was tired but trying not to show it. "You sound awful, honey. What's wrong?"
I laughed. "Everything. Nothing. The usual."
She sighed, that long exhale that always meant she saw right through me even from three states away. "I was going to wait until tomorrow, but… I'm coming up. Be there in a little while. Flight lands at six a.m. Don't pick me up… I already have a car. Just… be home. We need to talk."
My stomach dropped. "Mom, it's not a good time… "
"It's never a good time when you're hurting, baby. And don't lie to me. I can hear it. Whatever happened tonight, we'll figure it out. But I'm coming. No arguments."
I rubbed my face hard, palm scraping over stubble and dried tears. "Yeah. Okay."
"I love you, Daniel. More than anything. You know that, right?"
I swallowed the lump trying to choke me. "Yeah. I know."
She hung up gently, like she knew one more word might break me completely.
I dropped the phone between my knees. Stared at the broken necklace chain still wrapped around my fingers. The little "D + S" pendant was bent now, probably from when I'd squeezed it too hard during the crying jag. Sky's face flashed red eyes, tears, the way he'd snapped the chain off like it burned him. The slam of the door still echoed in my skull.
Mom was coming.
Mom, who'd watched me fall apart after my ex. Mom, who'd sat with me on the bathroom floor l, in the hospital. When I thought life wasn't worth living again while I puked up whiskey. Mom, who'd never once said "I told you so" even when she had every right. Mom, who still believed I could be happy if I just stopped punishing myself long enough to let someone in.
And now she was flying across the country.
I laughed again. What a fucking joke. Nothing about me felt discrete right now. I felt raw, exposed, bleeding out on my own floor.
I dragged myself up, legs shaky. The apartment smelled like him his shampoo, the faint sweet omega scent that had soaked into every cushion, every shirt, every corner. I walked to the bedroom on autopilot, flipped the light on. Bed still messy from this morning. His side rumpled, pillow dented where his head had been. I sat on the edge, picked up the pillow, pressed it to my face and inhaled like a pathetic addict.
Fuck.
I dropped it, stood up fast, paced. Back to the living room. Couch where he'd curled up waiting for me. Hoodie still crumpled where he'd thrown it when he stormed out. I picked it up soft, worn, smelled like him and me and last night and yesterday and every stupid perfect moment I'd just murdered.
I sank onto the couch, hoodie clutched in my lap like a kid with a security blanket. Phone buzzed again. Text from Mom.
"Flight confirmed. See you in the morning. Try to sleep, sweetheart. I Love you."
I stared at it until the screen went dark.
Sleep. Right.
I sat there for hours, hoodie balled up against my chest, staring at nothing. Rain had stopped sometime after midnight; now it was just quiet. Too quiet. No sarcastic comments from Sky. No soft breathing next to me. No stupid selfies lighting up my phone at 2 a.m. Just me and the echo of my own voice yelling "I love you" right before I told him to leave.
Was there any reason for me to keep loving or living I kept thinking?