Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story by Sandra Fitzgerald

I’m
really not in the mood to talk.
    The phone stops,
then starts up again almost immediately.
    “ Oh
for fuck’s sake,” I mumble to no-one because that’s all there is
for me, fall back on the pile, slide the mobile out of my pocket
and look the screen to see Luke’s name.
    Great.
    I press the go
button and place it to my ear, “Hey.” My voice is scratchy and
comes out sounding hoarse.
    “ Hey,
you okay there, Maggie Mae?”
    Christ, I don’t
answer his call straight away and he starts with the third degree,
really?
    “ I’m
fine, Luke, just sleeping. Is there something you
wanted?”
    “ No,
just to hear your voice. Wish I was there Maggie, I hate being
away-”
    “ Why?” I cut him off abruptly, not interested in more of the
same BS he’s been spruiking since he left. If he’s that hung up
about it, don’t be there, be here.
    “ Sorry? Why what?”
    “ You
heard me. Why? Why everything?”
    “ What’s going on, Maggie?” His tone is sharper. I can imagine
him sitting up in his seat the way he does when he’s paying closer
attention to something.
    “ Nothing Luke, you woke me that’s all.”
    There’s a long
pause filled with noisy breathing. Neither of us are brave enough
to fill the void with the words we’re really thinking.
    “ I
should go-”
    “ I’ll
be home soon.”
    “ Aren’t you home already Luke?” I hang up and turn off the
phone before he has a chance to answer. I couldn’t bare it if he
told me that he is.
    Then I close my
sore eyes and let the silent tears flow freely. I don’t even have
the energy to make a sound when I cry anymore. I’m so sick of
myself. So sick and tired of being me.
    Eventually I
lift the tightly clutched phone to inspect the blacked out screen
and absently glide my thumb over it, pressing it to the side of the
casing and turn it on. It chimes countless times indicating missed
calls and incoming texts. They’re mostly from Luke, a few from Jon
as well. He’s overseas on location, so I know he can’t come barging
into my house uninvited for the next few weeks at least, and I like
that. I like that they can’t jump back into my life and take over
now that they’ve left me.
    I don’t bother
with the voicemails or reading the messages. I just scroll though
my contacts list repeating the word “no” out loud every time I stop
on a name, tagging the person who once told me they were here for
me and are now not, until I come across one I completely forgot
about. Honestly, I didn’t know it was in there.
    Thinking of him
reminds me that I’m allowed to drink and that I think I want to, so
why the hell not? I untangle my legs, tripping as I leave the
bedroom; run my hands through my bird’s nest of hair to loosen the
clumps and head to the liquor cabinet. It’s in the living room so
maybe I need to start living after all.
    I wrap my
fingers around the first bottle of clear liquid I see and take a
sparkling clean glass from the cupboard above my head. I have to
reach up on my toes, and it hurts. One feels like it could be
broken.
    I pour a good
slosh, filling the glass half way and tip it down my throat without
a seconds thought. It burns like a bitch and makes me recoil,
releasing a strangled gasp. I do it again and again. Ha, maybe I
should do it in lots of three, three quick drinks, take a breather,
then three more drinks. It works for Joe right? So I do. But I’m
not sure if it’s working, I’m getting pretty drunk, pretty freaking
fast.
    I swallow the
last of my countless thirds when I notice my mobile resting on the
shiny black surface. I pick up the phone and swipe my thumb to the
right, put it on loud speaker and listen to it ring.
    I’m about to
hang up when a male voice carries through the small speaker. “Well
fuck me six ways ‘til Sunday, I never thought I would see your name
flash across my screen, sweetheart.”
    I laugh at his
opener. “Me neither, my friend. You are still my friend,
right?”
    “ Fuck
yeah. I’m your