11 digits, 6 seconds, and 1 outcome

it cuts like a knife deep inside
and no matter how hard you try
you can't hide the pain you feel;
the searing tear within your torso
the bubbling rage in your head.
In her twisted manipulation
she spelled out her number,
all eleven digits, for you to call.
and painstakingly you dialed them
one
at
a
time
nervousness and doubt slowly built inside you
and emcompassed you in a fog of giddy blindness.
one ring
two
and a half
then the other line picked up
your heart skipped a beat
and ran twice as fast as it ever had before
you heard her voice
her breath
calm and cold
into her reciever
but she only threw you a few words.
and in six seconds
it is all over
the line was dead.
dial tone greets you
but not so friendly this time
it seems to mock you
and in your humiliation
you slam down the reciever.
the walls echo the sudden noise
until the apartment lay silent
and only beads of sweat
trickle down your head
and your fist shakes
as you realise:
she didn't want you
she never did
she knew you would be all over her
she craved the attention.
she used you
she could not care less about you.
rage slowly attack your spine
rushing towards your brain
threatening to overtake you.
the kinve that hung in front of your heart a moment before
now is making contact
slicing through the first layers
drawing blood
directly from its source.
with icy fingers grasping at your stomach,
your body spasms in chaos
your mind crawls in misery
again, you are alone.
while she laughs on the other side,
with someone else.