reasons to stop answering the phone: part 457 thousand

i'm cooking dinner when the phone rings. let it go. twice. answer. the familiar accented voice wraps around my throat like two tight hands, i know it's been a long time since we've talked.
mister-fucking-x
i say something that's somewhere between 'what do you want' and 'fuck off.' that i hope comes across more in tone as the latter.
i know you've said you didn't want anything to do with me.
mental response: you're damned right you no-good-crazy-mutha-fuckin-bastard.
yes, i manage to mutter as i burn myself on a hot pan.
but. well. it's just like this. i think about you all the time. i really miss you bela.
how i used to love it when he called me that.
i really wish he wouldn't have phoned. and i tell him so. ask him to get right down to the point: what do you want?
remember that project i was working on when we met? well, i'm headed back to do more research at the british library this summer. and, err, we talked about at one point. before. umm. i want you to come with me. i've talked to my department, and they've said that they would give me the funding for a graduate assistant. and i still have access to that apartment in the city. you remember. and afterward i'm going to visit my father for a few weeks. and i thought you might like to come. i'd buy the ticket. of course. i know it'd be great. remember? are you still there?

i've been sure to turn off all the burners. forgot about the luxury of food when he first started talking. sat on the couch and stared out the window until i was able to hang up my end of the line. afterward i drink whisky from a tall glass and dial jay at paul and andy's. when i can hear his voice, i wish that i were drunk already.

what the fuck dude. could you at least try to find some boys in your own country?
i laugh, even though it doesn't feel particularly funny and we promise to talk more later.

can i just say: what? i mean, seriously, what the freaking hell?