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The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

May 6, 2015

Paul should have been home hours ago. He said he was stopping for some drinks with friends after work. That was four hours ago. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. I have.

How’s it going?” I said.

There was no reply.

I waited an hour.

I could see him flying through a car window.

I texted him again.

Everything alright?

Nothing.

I tried not to cry. Worry never gets writer’s block.

He’s kissing a blonde. He’s coming home to a secret family and his children are named Charlie and Susan. He’s being stabbed by a crazed mugger, or beaten by a violent psychopath. He’s been arrested for looking the wrong way. He’s still at work and doesn’t have the good sense to tell his boss to fuck off.

I wanted so bad to text him again. Last time he was furious with me for sending like forty texts because he was driving to my house and he refuses to text and drive at all which is one of the reasons I love the stubborn bastard.

Just one more.

I’m starting to worry.

I couldn’t stop the tears but I held back the sobs. I had some wine and took a bath. I tried to listen to music but it all grated. It was drawing attention from where my thoughts wanted to go: Paul.

He’s on a plane to Barbados. He’s leaving me. He’s drained his account and split town. He wasn’t who I thought he was. He’s been kidnapped by Somalian pirates.

He’s dead.

I won’t allow it. He’s alive. He’ll be walking through that door at any moment, annoyed by some blunder made by the bartender. You’ll see.

I sat down to write this, to write it all out of my head. As soon as my fingers touched the keys, the door sprang open and in leapt Paul, slightly disheveled but as happy to see me as I was to see him.

I punched him in the arm.

“You can’t answer a text?”

“I’m sorry,” he whined. “My phone died. I didn’t think we’d be out this late, but Brandon kept buying drinks. Why? Did you text me?”

He plugged in his phone and stared at the screen for a moment and then looked up with amber pools of regret.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he pulled me into his arms. “The battery on this thing is shit.”

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