This is a sequel of my story Christmas Years Ago. It should be read first. If I remember I’ll put a link to it when it goes up, as I’m writing this two days before it goes up.

It’s boxing day and I still am alone in the apartment we used to share.

I can only think of one word to describe the emotion that overcomes every piece of me.


I long for how full the apartment felt with you always singing to cheesy pop music or a constant background noise of some videogame sound track.

When you were here there was never silence, now all that I can hear is my own heartbeat and the music I play as an attempt to block out my own thoughts.

I long for the times when I broke and you would help me pick up the pieces.

Now I have to fix things by myself.

I am weak and shattered and you are the only one who can put me back together.

I sit until the cd ends and I am left in silence.

I sit in my own pitiful bubble of regret for hours until my phone ringing interrupts my train of thought.

I pick it up, “Hello?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

It’s you.

But you said you never wanted to hear my voice again.

And I deserve no less punishment than that.

“I’ll always answer”, I manage to croak out.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. I am too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Of course I do”, you scoff, “I left.”

“You left because of me.”

“Because I was stupid and overreacted.”

“You overreacted about my mistakes.”

“Are we honestly going to argue over who needs to apologize when we both already did?” I can imagine you rolling your eyes as you say this.

“Sorry”, I mutter.

“God, stop apologizing. Anyways, my family talked some sense into me. We’ve both been under a lot of pressure lately and I think we both exploded.”

I can’t help bursting out into tears.

You don’t hate me.

“Please come home”, I sob.

“I’m already on my way.

“See you soon.”

“See you soon.”

I hang up, so you cant find out how much of a mess  I am, and stand up to go compose myself, but before I can make it to the bathroom there’s a knock on the door.

It’s you.

It has to be.

No one else would come here.

I open the door and there you are.

Before I can overthink anything I collapse in your arms.

You hold me tight and I can hear your sobs, no matter how much you are trying to conceal them.

We stand like this for a while until you whisper in my ear, “we’re okay.”

And for the first time in months we actually are.

That was an emotional roller coaster to write.


I have an idea for a sequel so maybe if I feel motivated enough I’ll post it some time.