Are You Playing Me? (Part of a zombie heartbreak story)
Standing in the vestibule of his apartment building, waiting for another fifteen minutes to pass so she could buzz him again without feeling too weird about it, it hit her: this was it. Even if he did give up and answer, he could never say anything to satisfy the feeling inside her. When a guy promises to meet you at work and doesn't show up, doesn't answer his phone, and doesn't buzz you into the building when you make your way there, it doesn't matter how considerate he seemed on the phone yesterday. All the times he told you he loved you, that you were the only girl he could see...those didn't matter after this, this cleaning of the slate. He was forgetting about her, in a matter of days, without warning. She was that girl, that woman; the faceless, the body-without-a-name. Her hand hovered over the keypad, waiting for orders from a brain that just didn't recognize itself anymore. "You're smarter than this," it scolded itself.
The sound of the outer door opening behind her startled her out of that. A UPS delivery man stepped up to key a number into the system, and a resident more considerate than the one she was here to see buzzed him in. Before she could talk herself out of it, she snapped open the door behind him and followed him inside. They shared an elevator with a man and his large dog. When her floor came up, she smelled that smell, the smell of nights at this unpredictable boy's apartment, the smell of laundry and some other sweet, unidentified thing. She tried not to associate that with happiness. That was likely over now.
When she knocked, the sound was hollow, and she thought he probably wasn't home anyway. She waited a few minutes, reading a fire drill warning sign, listening for anything. Nothing. She knocked again, listlessly, never having felt more pathetic in her life. This was a mistake. He couldn't do anything for her now. He probably wouldn't even if he could.
The sound of the outer door opening behind her startled her out of that. A UPS delivery man stepped up to key a number into the system, and a resident more considerate than the one she was here to see buzzed him in. Before she could talk herself out of it, she snapped open the door behind him and followed him inside. They shared an elevator with a man and his large dog. When her floor came up, she smelled that smell, the smell of nights at this unpredictable boy's apartment, the smell of laundry and some other sweet, unidentified thing. She tried not to associate that with happiness. That was likely over now.
When she knocked, the sound was hollow, and she thought he probably wasn't home anyway. She waited a few minutes, reading a fire drill warning sign, listening for anything. Nothing. She knocked again, listlessly, never having felt more pathetic in her life. This was a mistake. He couldn't do anything for her now. He probably wouldn't even if he could.