BM: So I made the call. It felt like a torrent of water rushing past, leaving me dripping wet and cold. The chilling sense of intrusion was rapidly replacing the pressure and I could almost taste the annoyance from the other end.
BM: This was exactly like every other impulsive thing I had done in my life and I instantly regretted it. My mind froze up and I didn't know what to say, therefore throwing me into a state of panic in which I yammered all sorts of idiotic notions that popped into my head.
BM: She played along for a while, but her patience wore thin. Have you ever reached that point in the conversation where you've got nothing to say but curt replies in a dragging, never-ending cycle? It really threw me off when out of the blue she asked if I knew the chords to 'Uninvited' by Alanis Morisette.
BM: Ahh.... Uninvited. That cold, hollow song that more or less says it all in the title. The desolate ending song to a pathetic movie. It was like she stabbed me in the back and I didn't even know I was bleeding. There was some instinct in me, though, that alerted me to the presence of cold steel; pierced through my pride. The primal fear came forth and I realised I could not even hope to be considered worthy of her. It was best that I withdraw and lick my wounds, salvaging what little pride I had left. This was the last time I spoke to her...(Essentially that's the end. Next week... prologue!)
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