65. Beautiful #3
I need you safe. I need you to be okay. Right now, I need you to be layin’ in a warm bed watchin’ your stupid serial killer shows and not with an actual serial killer, okay?
And I—I just fuckin’ need you.
// ANDREW (VOICEMAIL) 01/04/25
04:12 AM
Hey,
it's—uh—the guy who can’t take a fuckin’ hint.
[deep, tired breath]
Don't know if you're listening to these,
so I'm gonna pretend you are.
I heard Aerosmith today. ‘Amazing.’ Down by Washington Square.
I stopped and stood there like a fuckin’ idiot, ‘cause I swear t’God, for a second, I thought I’d turn around and you’d be standin’ there… Like in the movies.
[pause]
But you weren’t there.
[pause]
I can see it too. Some angel and some devil on a couch somewhere watchin’ me like, ‘watch this dumb prick.’ Then dyin’ laughin’ the second I turn around.
Fuck. I don’t know.
Can’t be a fuckin’ coincidence, right? I hear Aerosmith, that means you gotta be thinkin’ about me. We said that once. Aerosmith means one of us is lookin’ for the other. That was our thing. One of our things.
And I heard it today.
So where the fuck are you?
[a long pause]
I’m sorry I keep callin’.
Sorry I keep leavin’ you voicemails.
I keep thinkin’ if I leave the perfect one,
you’ll call me back.
Like there’s some magic combination of words where you stop hatin’ me for five seconds and tell me where the hell you are.
‘Cause I’m tellin’ you right fuckin’ now—I don’t know where my home is if I don’t know where you are.
I'm not just sayin' that. Not tryna pull shit or tell you what you want to hear. I literally can't fuckin' do this.
[exhales]
Okay.
I really, really need to talk to you.
I curl my knees into my chest.
I shouldn’t be listening to these.
I should delete them.
I should throw the phone across the room, let it shatter, let the voicemails disappear with it.
But I don’t. Because his voice is tormented and devastating and mine.
I press the phone to my chest
as if I can hold his voice inside of me.
And then I play the most recent one.
// ANDREW (VOICEMAIL) 01/07/25
05:02 AM
What the fuck do I gotta do, Allison?
Seriously. Tell me. ‘Cause I don’t fuckin’ get it.
You tell me that, then bounce? You say that shit to me, then go off doin’ the exact. Fuckin’. Opposite. I don’t know what you think disappearin’ is gonna fix. All I know is that it’s been too many days. And I’m goin’ out of my FUCKIN’ MIND.
Tells me—I dunno, maybe you didn't mean to say that. 'Cause this feels like you really don't give a fuck at all. Or maybe hell, you only fuckin' love someone if they say it right back. And now I can’t believe a goddamn thing you say anymore.
[a groan]
I didn’t mean that.
I do believe you.
I just fuckin’ miss you.
I miss you so damn much.
I hate you not bein’ here with me. I hate this.
I hate wakin’ up, worryin’, fuckin’ thinkin’ about you all the goddamn time.
Only ounce of peace I get is when I’m sleepin’, but I can’t even fuckin’ sleep.
I keep endin’ up at the penthouse ‘cause I keep thinkin’ maybe, maybe tonight will be the night that elevator will ding.
Maybe she’ll walk in and take this out on me.
Scream at me. Hate me. Hit me. I don’t fuckin’ care.
I just want to be standin' in front of you right now.
[exhales]
I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t do this ever again.
And now I’m real fuckin’ scared.
‘Cause I don’t know if you’re gone for good or if you’re just gone for now. But either way I need you to get your ass back here.
So I can try to fix this.
Please, Allison.
Just come back.
// JAN 09, 11:19 PM //
I don’t know how many days it’s been.
I don’t know what time it is.
The cold bites when I step into the black Pennsylvania night.
It shouldn’t feel good, but it does.
I inhale, deep and desperate,
filling my lungs,
then exhale long,
trying to push him out of me.
The streets are so dead quiet it’s as if the world’s stopped. There’s one streetlight working on the far corner of the lot, casting a sickly gold over the snowbank below.
My boots crunch on the icy gravel as I head toward the edge of the property, pulling a cigarette from the pack.
I flick my lighter, orange flame slashing the night, and take a long, deep drag, the paper crackling as it burns, the smoke billowing into the freeze.
A man appears out of the dark, stepping right into the pool of light, hands buried deep in his pockets, head ducked, collar of his jacket up against the chill.
My heart blinks awake, the cigarette nearly slipping through my fingers.
Andrew? I step forward,
my boots scuffing sidewalk.
Every muscle in my body’s flexing,
wanting me to run to him.
I am ready to not give a fuck about what happened. I just want to be in his arms for five seconds. I just want to be wrapped up in him, with his voice in my ear, his mouth in my hair.
Only for five seconds.
Okay—six seconds.
And then he looks up,
the light catching his face.
It’s not him.
Then suddenly, I’m colder.
I’m fucking colder.
I drag hard on the cigarette,
the paper burning all the way down,
trying to replace the ache with nicotine.
I tell myself it’s limerence.
I tell myself one day he’ll leave.
I tell myself I’ll be okay.