Why won’t he text? Is he dead?
No, don’t be so stupid. He’ll have just forgotten.
That’s nice, isn’t it? Forgotten the love of his life. I must mean an awful lot to him if he can’t even be bothered to spend 3 seconds texting me.
Seriously, though, why would he forget me? Shouldn’t I be on his mind every second of every day like he is on mine?
Maybe he doesn’t love me like I love him. Maybe he’s sick of me and just staying around because it’s easy.
Do I mither him too much? Has he found someone else on the side and he’s with her right now, too distracted to text me?
I wonder what she’s like. Like me, but better. Skinnier. Prettier. Better hair – longer than mine, because mine won’t grow past my shoulders even though he wishes it would. She’ll be more relaxed too. More fun. Funnier. Bubblier.
He wouldn’t do that to me, would he? Surely not. Surely.
No. He’s probably just dead, instead.
Not dead – just delayed. Maybe there’s traffic. Could be road works. Or someone’s had an accident.
Maybe he’s had an accident.
He’s not dead, but he might be hurt. He might be lying in the road right now, paramedics trying to fix him. Or he could be in the back of an ambulance with its blues and twos going, trying to get him to a doctor before he dies.
How will they let me know? They just turn up at the door when that sort of thing’s on the telly. Or maybe someone at the hospital will ring and tell me where he is. But how will I get there to see him? I don’t have the car – he’s crashed it. I’ll have to get a bus or a taxi and I might not get there in time, not if it’s serious.
What if he’s on life support? What if I can’t tell him I love him and hear him say it back, just in case the worst happens? What if it’s only the life support that’s keeping him going? What if I have to make a decision to pull the plug? I can’t do that. I won’t do it. But I wouldn’t let them do it.
Fuck – what am I going to do? I can’t live without him. I’ll be a wreck. I won’t be able to work. I won’t be able to pay the rent. I’ll be homeless. Homeless and mad. I’ll probably just die too. May as well, anyway, if I don’t have him.
And the funeral – I couldn’t…
Oh – my phone. It’s him. He’s text me.
He’s there safe. He’s fine. He’s fine.
Of course he’s fine. It’s me who’s not fine. It’s always me.
But why hasn’t he told me why his text was late?
I write one new story each week inspired by a random song from my Spotify library. This week it was Fatboy Slim’s Going Out Of My Head.
Want to join in? Open your music-player of choice, hit shuffle, and write a story about the first song that plays (or the first song that inspires you to write). Then tell me about it, ‘cos you bet I wanna read what you came up with.Follow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com