Friend of the Brokenhearted

The phone rang, right on cue. She had just begged him to call. They had been texting, but his texts did not sound good to her in her head.

“Hey.” he sounded exactly as she imagined he would, depressed.
“What is with you?!” she attacked him. She’d tried everything else, being nice, encouraging, crying with him, spending hours talking to, no AT him, but nothing had worked.
“You ask for my help, then come back at me spouting more of the same depressed bullshit! Is it worth my tears, the words, the worrying?”
“I just miss her.”
“Yeah, no one else put up with your giant mood swings, but this is unfair! Here there are people who love you and want to see you happy, and you shove us all away, probably lying to us to appease us, disappear for a while, making us worry, and you come back exactly the same, no progress. Please, tell me there’s progress.”
“No, you’re right, I’m exactly the same. I come to you only when I need you.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. Please don’t go.”

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