Guilty Pleasure

“I am not drunk,” he said, his words a slurred mess. Receiving a call from him at this hour was unexpected, considering the aeons of ringing phones and unanswered texts. Just when I was on the brink of having finally convinced myself that he was gone forever, the devil called me.

Snapping back to the sound of his valium-like deep voice, I realised that this was not the same man. He was not the same man who once left me, bawling my eyes out; not the man who mocked my unceasing love. Nay.

This man was different. He longed for me.

“I fell for you simply because, you were unapologetically yourself; a breeze of freshness amidst the dusty ways of my world. I fell for your beautiful soul. I loved you for everything that you were, and everything that you weren’t. You were so perfectly flawed, but also perfectly you.”

“Your place in my heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. But I know we’re done.”

The tables had turned. It was him, in a desperate attempt to cling to me.

“We were an atom bomb, waiting to explode, except we never really did. We just put a timer on ourselves and walked away from the other. It wasn’t our relationship that was going to explode. It was us. And someone would be caught in the fire. And that’s why we couldn’t be together.”

“You didn’t just light a spark, but you ignited this fire in me. I became addicted to you, like you were heroin, injecting myself with the idea our love would last forever. I left you. And now I’m searching for you at the bottom of the bottle. You were my guilty pleasure, the one that I’d indulge in every single day. But can’t.”

With this, I heard the presence of another man, trying to gently take the receiver away from his hands; and him resisting it.
Without a word, I put the phone down.

We all get addicted to something that takes the pain away. And his addiction, happened to be me. His guilty pleasure.



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