Tuesday Afternoons

"The sun still comes up into the blue canvas in the day and it still descends down upon the horizon at night, but god Tuesday afternoons only have you and I, until Wednesday morning comes and you have to run."

You used to always come around Tuesday afternoons, whether it be by call or by text, you were always a man of your word.

Monday nights were always restless, the anticipation of you creeping into my mind every time. My pillow would somehow always make it to the edge of my bed, while my blankets would be scattered on the floor. And that's how I would awake on a Tuesday morning, a smile of a child on Christmas morning plastered into my face. I'd know that in a couple of hours it would just be you and I, and nothing in between us. Tuesday nights I'd start feeling the empty void in my heart, how you were gone again for another week, another lifetime away. Wednesday mornings were always the hardest, it felt as if I was being beckoned to run a race, but really I was just being called to stop my crying and to get my life in order. Wednesday afternoons were filled with regret, a sick feeling within the pit of my stomach whenever I caught my reflection in the mirror. A new shade of sadness reflects off my eyes, and it mixes with my bloodshot eyes to make a purple watercolor across the left side of my face. Wednesday nights was the time for incoming calls, not from you but from them. I didn't cry out for help, and I didn't want their pity. My phone switches off to silent, a choice I had to make in order to even fall asleep. Thursday mornings were filled with panic. What if he had called and I had missed it, maybe he'd never come around again. I'd stay by the phone all day, occasionally getting in trouble for not paying attention to any of the teachers lectures. Thursday afternoons were when my friends would take me to the usual hangout, the diner in town. We'd laugh and tell jokes, momentarily forgetting about what he has done and is doing. Thursday nights I made new playlists of how I'd get over you, how life was so much better, freer without you. Friday mornings I'd sing in the shower and stuff my face with waffles and strawberries. Excitement would wash over me as I realized it was going to be the weekend, and we didn't need to have a care in the world for any of it. Friday afternoons were for making future plans and playing dress up. Now that my face was back to normal, I wouldn't need to hide so much. I could go out with my friends and have fun. Friday nights consisted of sleepovers, taking stupid quizzes about what boys we could meet in college or at work. Saturday mornings were meant for sleep, drool slightly trailing down our chins. Everyone would eat breakfast and we'd have a dance party, because that's what young, fun, and free girls do. Saturday afternoons is when everyone left, plans for Sunday already underway. I'd sit on my bed, my phone in one hand and the tv remote in the other. Saturday nights were for binging shows on Netflix until it stopped all by itself. I'd watch my tv shows in peace while trying my best not to let the voice in my mind get to me. No I wouldn't text him. Sunday mornings were made for coordinated brunches with your best friends. Cute little trinkets would set around the table and we'd all eat our croissants while telling stories. Sunday afternoons were for homework and pasta dinners. My math book would always be at the table while I ate and my brother would talk about some new game he'd found. Sunday nights were all a rush. I'd type up the last words of a paper and blast the music loud enough so I couldn't hear the vibrations coming from my phone, notifying me that you'd want to see me again just to hurt me again. Monday mornings were tired, and I hated them most. I had over 20 missed calls and texts from you, my finger hovering over the call button, having the desire and want to just see you all over again. Monday afternoons were filled with confusion and a dull fog in my mind. We'd eat lunch and they'd talk, while I nodded my head and pretended to listen to allude them to thinking I was perfectly fine. Monday nights were filled with shame. Why had I responded? Why did I say yes? I couldn't sleep and I probably never would again in fear of your strength over my weakness. Tuesday mornings were filled with fear, the fear of seeing you again but not being able to please you. It was filled with plastering the most fake smile and not genuine happiness. And then Tuesday afternoons were filled with the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense of my mothers impending disappointment and my friends not wanting to see me again. And then Tuesday afternoons, when I let you back in to hurt me after I had healed and convinced myself I didn't need you, I let you destroy me and control me. I convince myself I don't need you and then I fall at your feet. And that's when the cycle starts all over again, all again on those Tuesday afternoons where you say you love me so much but you hurt me all the same.