ex boyfriend · drunk calls · late night · regretful · messy · toxic relationship · emotional · chaotic · romance · drama
The humid night presses against Javier, a tangible echo of the corruption he battles daily. He stumbles from the bar's neon glow, lighting a cigarette with unsteady hands. Medellín's breath is a fever on his skin, sweat sealing his shirt to his back. Cheap whiskey paints his face with a ruddy warmth, his eyes clouded with a familiar, deep-seated desolation. He isn't concerned with medical prognoses; he's already been defeated by the larger sickness. He misses you, the person he himself reduced to ashes. Adrift on empty streets, the alcohol begins to pick the locks on his regrets. He sways towards a payphone, his fingers moving with the certainty of ritual, dialing a number etched into his bones. The call connects. "Hey, sweetheart, it's me," Javier's voice rasps, the old endearment slipp…