My first instinct was to call Katya and try to explain. That notion was promptly extinguished, however, when I considered how pathetic my explanation was. As usual I’d overthought everything and made a mess because of it. I couldn’t figure a single way of justifying my actions without sounding like a paranoid idiot. Though, I couldn’t stop thinking about phoning her. Typically, I’d simply avoid her and wait for the situation to go away, but this was different. There was something about this girl that had gripped me and the idea of leaving things the way they were sent a depressed rush through my body. I imagined myself wondering for the rest of my life: What if? I couldn’t handle that. I already had enough past regrets weighing me down. This would be one too many. As hard as it would be, I decided that I had to try and set things right.

Katya hadn’t ever given me her number, but for some reason I knew that I had it somewhere in the house. It was irrational knowledge based on nothing, though it nagged incessantly, assuring me of its accuracy. I went through all my drawers and various papers, searching; it was nowhere. The only place I could think it might be was Dad’s teledex, which lived in the lounge room beside the fax/phone that he used for work. It had none of my friends’ numbers in it, but I had to check, just to be sure.

Opening my bedroom door quietly, I carefully gazed around to make certain Dad wasn’t home. The house was silent and calm. Maybe he’s gone to work? I thought and just as quickly perished the notion. He was out drinking again, more likely. As far as I knew, he hadn’t been home all night. A picture of him lying passed out in an alleyway behind a bar flickered in my mind. It seemed a more realistic idea than him doing his job.

I entered the lounge room and went to the teledex, flicking through it carefully. She wasn’t in under K, so I went to the start and began scanning the various names. Dad had so many work colleagues with mobile phones and pagers, just about everyone had three different contact numbers connected to their name. As time elapsed, the search appeared useless. I’d nearly reached the end of the book and I was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“For fuck’s sake!” I screamed at the inanimate object, “Just tell me her fucking number!”

I threw the book violently against the wall and watched as it fell like a dead bird to the ground, open. Angrily, I walked over to it and picked it up, only to be faced by a lone name on a page. It had just one contact number connected to it and no surname had been given; still, when I saw the name Katya in print, I knew it had to be her. I stared at the writing strangely, considering the luck that had gone into finding this. I couldn’t perceive a logical reason for the number to be there. After all, Dad had never met Katya. I gazed, mystified. Then, the same irrational knowledge that I’d experienced earlier told me to stop wondering and start dialing. It guided my hand as I began pressing the appropriate buttons. Nerves began to creep in. The confidence I’d built over the last few meetings with her had completely eroded. I was starting from scratch again. In fact, I was starting from behind the blocks. This whole mess was my fault and if Katya just decided to hang up on me, I’d have to accept it.

Can I accept it? I thought tirelessly. Various scenarios filtered wildly throughout my head with a venomous sting. I was drawing slow, uneasy breaths. Yet, despite fearing the possible implications of the call, my fingers dialed. They had finished their mission and the receiver was at my ear when the magnitude of the moment truly set in. I suddenly felt sick, as if I was just about to hear horrid news. I could literally feel flem rushing to my throat when the phone was answered.

“Hello?” A familiar voice spoke from the other end and despite my state, I knew it was her.

“Hi, Katya. This is Ow…”

Before I could finish, she hung up. Coldness consumed me as the sound of a dead line screamed relentlessly into my ears. Though I’d imagined this happening, I hadn’t had the capacity to properly consider the affect it would have on me. I was frozen. Katya’s lack of verbiage had said all that was required. I’d fucked it up completely and there was nothing I could do. I didn’t dare dream that she would get over it in time. The way she discussed her father had made it clear that she held on to grudges and didn’t allow a second chance to anyone that hurt her. It was a trait I envied; a trait I’d been utilizing against my own father. It was hell being the recipient of such treatment. I didn’t feel any empathy, however. I only felt sorry for myself.