incoming call from !

or

"what."

"..."

"hello?"

"..."

"tom, it's 2 in the morning. i don't have time for this. if you don't answer right now i'm hanging up."

"no, i-i'm here."

"what do you want? "

"uh, i...the t-thing is—"

"are you drunk?"

"kind of. haz said it would make me feel better, but i just feel even more awful."

"a-and that's the only reason this happened, i swear. i never would've done this sober, not in a million years."

"what are you talking about?"

"it didn't mean anything. i didn't even know her. it'll never be—she'll never be—"

"tom, what—"

"—she kissed me, and i didn't know what to do. i just..."

"..."

"oh."

"mel, i'm so sorry."

"for what?"

"what?"

"what are you sorry for? for kissing some girl?"

"i—yes. i feel horrible and guilty—"

"well, i'll spare you. you don't have to."

"what?"

"i don't care tom. you can do whatever you want."

"it's not like we're dating."

"..."

"right. got it."

"i guess—i guess i just fooled myself into thinking that, somehow, mel santiago actually gave a damn about me. i guess i forgot that you don't care about anyone, right?"

"you're being dramatic."

"no, i'm serious. is there anything that you care about? is there anything that matters to you?"

"you know that's not fair tom. i care about things. so. much. do you think any of this would've happened if i didn't?"

"oh, so we're still pretending that's the reason why you're pushing me away?"

"you don't get it. those people—"

"—don't matter. since when do you need the validation of strangers?"

"you're supposed to understand! your entire career is based off what people think of you."

"i don't do what i do because of other people. i do it because i love it. something you'd understand if you loved anything at all."

"what's wrong with you? why are you acting like this?"

"i'm tired, mel. i'm just so fucking tired."

"can we please do this some other time? you're drunk and it's late and i'm done with this."

"no. i'm done with this. i'm done, mel. i can't stand feeling like this all the time."

"whatever, tom."

"no, not 'whatever'. i can't believe you, mel!"

"i mean, what more could i have done? what more could i have given you?"

"you—"

"no! i was never enough for you, was i? and i'll never be good enough."

"that's not what i said!"

"you didn't have to."

"...it's not my fault. it's not my fault you got hurt."

"you're right. i just care too much. i should be like you instead, right? i should tear everyone around me apart and pretend it doesn't matter. that nothing living and breathing matters."

"you don't know anything about me, so stop acting like it!"

"no, mel. i know you better than anyone. and i see right through you."

"shut up! just shut the hell up."

"you know what, i am sorry."

"i'm sorry i wasted my breath trying to convince people you're not exactly what they think you are, because you are."

"..."

"fuck you, tom."

call ended 2:34 am!