Author's Note: This is the second edit of the story, so it's not quite perfect yet. It's not exactly your traditional romance, either... Thanks for reviewing.
Hello.
My breath catches at the sound of her voice. I haven't heard it in such a long time.
Here and there, yes, when she asked me to perform small tasks in the theater where we work, but it's been a long time since we've held a conversation.
A long time since I've heard her voice sound so plainly happy, free of so much pain and resentment. A long time since that lively tone was used for me and only me.
A very long time since I screamed those unforgivable words in her face.
It's Maria.
Her name meant so much to me in the two years we spent together. I especially loved the way I could wrap my tongue around the syllables, the way it passed so smoothly over my lips. Maria. She has such a beautiful name.
Now that beautiful word chokes my tongue.
I've done enough damage. I was brave enough to put her smooth, beautiful name with those disgusting words. I was brave enough to use those words on her.
But can I ask her to forgive me? Can I really ask so much of her? To forgive 'you bitch,' 'cheater,' 'whore,' and everything else I said to her that night?
Because I know that my opinion was more important to her than anyone else's. I was the most important person in her life. I was the person she went to before she sent her writing to a publisher or magazine editor. I was the one she asked when she needed help in the production company. I was the man she went to when her father died, the one that held her together when she thought she'd fall apart.
My words were the most important to her. How could I do that to her?
I'm not in right now, so leave your name and number so I can try to get back to you.
The first year was one of the best times of my life. But in the second year, she was barely around. She was always so busy – with the theater, her production company, her writing.
Maria always seemed so tired, and because of that, she never wanted to go anywhere with me. To family functions, to the concert my best friend was playing. Every spare moment she had was spent closed up in her apartment to work on that novel of hers; locked into the theater with the actors, preparing for another show; shut up in the theater offices, booking shows and selling tickets and paying bills just because she didn't believe in hiring others to do work she could do herself when she could use the money to fix the curtain or buy costumes or sponsor a youth program.
And when she was at the theater, he was always with her.
That bastard, Jack. Always at her side, always willing to move the heavy things, opening doors, carrying papers. All the things she wouldn't let me do for her. 'Don't worry about it,' she always used to say to me. She didn't want me doing her chores when I was paid for other ones, even if I did want to. But she would let Jack do them. I could see the way he looked at her. The unadulterated adoration in his eyes.
Every day, I saw him, and I watched them, and I wondered if she saw it too.
When we were at the post-production party that night, I couldn't help but see the way he was watching her. Couldn't help see the way they were dancing. How could that be innocent on Jack's part? I downed as much alcohol as I could. Jealousy – all that jealousy clouding my mind and turning my vision blood-red. Even all that beer couldn't wash it away. It just built on top of itself until I couldn't take it anymore. That's when I confronted her.
I had my reasons to do it. Reasons to confront her. But I know that I didn't have to do it the way that I did.
Today is Tuesday, January first, 2013, at 4:23pm. Please begin your message at the tone.
I have to talk to her. I know she'll never date me again, not after what I've said to her. The things I've accused her of. I didn't mean it, not any of it. I haven't had a sip of beer since then. It's been months. A year and a half. I haven't gotten drunk for a year and a half. I haven't been with a woman for a year and a half.
She might not forgive me. She won't take me back. But I can't live my life any longer without having her in my life, even if I'm just a friend.
After all, at least she might forgive me.
Hey, Maria, this is Ian. Could you give me a call back so we can talk? You know the number. Thanks. 'Bye.
