Chapter Twenty-Three

                                    

                                          
Chapter Twenty-Three
- Levitate above all the messes made -
January 17th 2023
My phone lights up, and I read Allie's name before it even starts buzzing. To say I'm terrified would be an understatement. 
I look at my drink, then back at the phone. If I choose to ignore it, at least I can keep pretending we're fine and that I didn't just ruin everything by slipping up last night. 
I can't lose her.
She's become such a huge part of my life that I cannot picture it without her in it. I can't have this conversation right now. 
I down the remains of my whiskey and pour another, waiting for the buzz to stop. When it does, I sigh deeply, not entirely sure if it's in regret or relief.
She tries two more times. 
Two more times that I don't have it in myself to pick up. 
I feel bad about leaving her hanging, but I know damn well I couldn't say anything to her given the big lump that had built up in my throat by now. Not to mention the weight on my heart.
Eventually, I feel guilty enough to at least shoot her a text after filling up my glass for the third time. I'm not capable of staying away from her for too long anyway, so I might just get it over and done with. Like ripping off a band-aid, it will most likely hurt, but hopefully just for a short while.
'Can't talk right now. Sorry.'
Allie: 'Well, about last night..' 
'?'
Allie: 'You were pretty much a goner 
by the time we hung up'
'facts'
Allie: 'Do you remember?' 
'I guess' 
Allie: 'You guess?' 
'still trying to convince myself it didn't happen'
Allie: 'So you DID say... something'
'...yeah'
'I'm sorry'
'forget about it'
Yep, definitely not ready to have this talk! 
I shove away the phone with a frustrated groan, but of course she is persistent enough to FREAKING CALL AGAIN. 
I get up to step outside. One would think 4,000 miles and a huge ass ocean separating us could make me forget about this problem a little easier, but how am I supposed to run from it when she's all I can think about?
I might have told her some day, but not like this. A confession that meaningful and intimate should never be a mistake caused by sleep deprivation. It's not something to be said as carelessly as I did. 
Ever. 
I know I might be overreacting, but I can't help it. I'm embarrassed, ashamed, angry, and scared all at once, and I'm very much overwhelmed by handling all these emotions. Now add the whiskey in my system, and you get a pretty good idea of what a mess I am. 
I need to do something to get my hands and head busy. I need to let out this built-up pressure. 
Not entirely sure where it'll lead me, I stomp over to the garden shed and rummage around there for a while.
Soon enough, I find myself standing on my porch again with a jigsaw in hand. My wanna-be craftswoman instincts kick in, successfully distracting me from everything else, and I start sawing a somewhat round shape into the same wooden floor I only painstakingly built not so long ago.
The now useless pieces of beam I cut out make for surprisingly great projectiles. I throw them into the garden as far as I can, allowing myself to accompany the throw with an increasingly louder scream each time. 
Once I'm done with the sawing, I rush back inside to quickly fetch the whiskey bottle and tell Alexa to blast some music—Taylor Swift's reputation album, to be precise.