Inside Out

Author Note: If you're familiar with modern rock, you'd know the Eve 6 song I'm referring to. If not, you can look it up on youtube. It's quite good.  :) I've taken direct quotes from the song, so naturally I need to quote. No plagiarizing here. :D


A sharp shrill of the phone broke the heavy silence in the room. Mitchell was alone, but his thoughts preoccupied him. He ignored the phone until the fourth, persistent ring. Finally, he stood up, walked to the phone, and answered.

"Hello?" he asked.

I hate it when people don't reply immediately, he thought.

"Hello?" he repeated.

"Yes, sorry. Is- ahem- is Leslie there?"

"Oh, no. Sorry. She's out on a weekend trip with her sister. May I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Jacob. You know," he paused. "Leslie's boyfriend," he said and coughed in the receiver making Mitchell hold the phone from his ear. Germaphobe.

Boyfriend?! I knew it.

"Never call here again," he said and threw the receiver down as if it were contaminated  missing its holder.

"H-how could she?" he asked aloud to nobody but himself. He led himself to his favorite red chair and started to hyperventilate.

He closed his eyes putting his head in his hands, back hunched over.

How long? Has it been like this all the whole two years? No. She's not like that. But everyone did tell me to watch out for anything suspicious. Come to think of it, three months in our relationship a lot of men were calling for her, he thought trying hard to rationalize her behavior.

But, this one. I finally have evidence. People thought I was crazy for two years- trying to point out every little misunderstanding, action, quirk, anything. I knew it though. It was my worst fear, but deep down, I knew. This- this thing that I have endured for two years, all the worrying, everything was just my "faith in nothing."

The "tick tock of the clock" became the beating of his heart. He hated to feel connected with anything so "sane and logical." He started to count the seconds.

One, two, three, four...

He kept counting because anything was better than the alternative- come to terms with what he really was.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. One minute passed. I can't keep doing this!

He paced in front of the clock until he started to count the seconds again.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...

"Stop!!" he yelled aloud. He stared at the clock that was binding to his heart, making it beat the same, picked it up, stared again, and finally, he threw it across the room with a shattering crash.

He felt better, as if the crash soothed him. He did the only reasonable thing left to do- pack and leave.

Folding his clothes and stuffing them in the over-sized suitcase, he felt a pang of pity for her.

Thirty minutes later with his suitcase packed, he walked out of the room, turned around, and surveyed it.

Light, brown bed, white carpet, mahogany bed, dark brown walls.

It made him sick to his stomach.

What if they- No.

He didn't let himself finish.He walked out in the living room grabbing a pen and piece of the cutest stationary he could find.

He began to write.

Dearest Leslie,

Congratulations! You have just put my "tender heart in a blender" and now I get to "watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion."

Who do you think you are to do that to someone you love? You have no right. Was I "origami and just pretend" to you? Did any of it matter? Was any of it real? Was I as "demented as the motives in your head?"

"Rendez-vous then I'm through with you..."



He signed it quickly and left not taking a backwards glance to the place where his heart lay smeared.



The End

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