I still remember his number by heart — the heart that he had breathed life into for a whole year before strangling it dry.

My bloody fingers tremble as I punch his digits one by one, slowly, deliberately.

I’m at a pay phone outside of Memorial Hospital. It’s pouring outside the booth. The rain has comingled with the tears on my cheeks. Streaks of caked blood cover my face, my clothes, my hands. Neither the tears nor the rain have sufficiently washed away evidence of the carnage I have just witnessed.

“Pick up pick up pick up,” I mutter, my voice cracking as a new onslaught of sobs boils up in my throat.

“Hello?” A groggy voice greets me on the other end.

“Antonio!” I cry. “It’s Maricela.”

The silence drags on so long, I think he’s either hung up or the call dropped.

“What do you want? It’s 3am.” It’s almost a growl, guttural. I can practically see his gritted teeth. It rumbles through my eardrums and reverberates down to my chest, tightening it.

“I just needed to hear your voice. I’m at the hospital. Something terrible has happened.” The words come out more slurred than I expected. Sure, I’ve had seven shots of Patrón, a foolish attempt to numb my neurons, which have processed too much tonight. But I’ve always prided myself in holding my liquor well.

A sigh travels through the telephone line. “Are you drunk?”

“It’s my mom. She’s been attacked. Stabbed.” The sobs erupt from my throat now. “I have no one else. So I called you.”

“Oh my God! How is she?” My mom had been like a mother to him.

“She’s in grave condition. She might not make it…” My voice trails off as the cries consume me once more. “Antonio please come. I can’t do this alone.”

“Maricela…” It still stings to hear him use my actual name instead of ‘babe’ or ‘mi vida’. “You know I love your mom but… I don’t think Bethany would be ok with this.”

Bethany. Just the mention of her name makes me glower. I don’t know what he sees in that blonde waif. Why do men always cheat on us with uglier and dumber girls?

I try my best to keep my voice steady, without any vitriol. “This is my mom we’re talking about… Antonio. This is an emergency. Please.”

“Argh! Ok. But I’m only going for your mom.”

“I’m at Memorial Hospital. I’ll be outside in my van. You remember what it looks like. You can’t miss it. I’ll wait for you there. I just can’t be inside right now. I hate hospitals. You know what I went through with my dad.”

The pay phone’s automated voice cuts in asking for more money to continue the call. I’m out of quarters, so I hang up and stumble my way back to the van.

An hour passes and still no sign of Antonio. In that time, I’ve begun to sober up and start to second guess myself. What am I doing? Should I have called him?

Antonio’s rap on the passenger side window halts any further reflection. I reach over and unlock the door for him.

I almost gasp as he climbs in and takes a seat. I haven’t been this physically close to him since the day I had slammed the front door to his apartment, suitcase in hand. Now that I could almost touch him, a torrent of desire mixed with tenderness rushes through every vein, every artery, every capillary. He is even more devastatingly gorgeous than I had anticipated — his brown skin darker, his muscles more defined, a scruff of beard perfectly outlining his jaw. It all suits him.

“Suprised you’re still hanging onto this old hippie van. Thought you’d get rid of it since you were about to start law school. ” He reaches over to the closed curtain that leads to the back.

“Don’t! It’s a mess back there.” I let out an awkward chuckle. Truth is, I’ve been living in my van since the day I left (was forced to leave) Antonio’s. I haven’t even told my mom that he and I broke up. I would never hear the end of it. At 30, I had been a lost cause to her — until I met Antonio. He had been my first boyfriend, my first love, my first everything. Once I had announced the news of our blossoming relationship, my mom had breathed a sigh of relief so strong, I’m sure it had reached my dad’s ears beyond the grave. Now at 32, what hope would she have of her weird, loner daughter ever getting hitched?

“You haven’t changed, Maricela,” Antonio says with a shake of his head. A corner of his lips twitches, a smile snuffed out before he even gave it a chance to form.

“I’ve missed you,” I say.

He stares out the front windshield, lips pressed. The moonlight glints off his wedding band. “Let’s not do this,” he finally responds.

“Does she know you’re here?”

“No, she’s on a girl’s trip with some friends.” He rubs his eyes. “And she doesn’t have to know. Again, I’m only here for your mom. So let’s go inside…”

“Why wasn’t I good enough for you?” Tears begin to blur my view of him.

“God…Maricela…” He turns completely away from me, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“Just tell me! I gave you ALL of me. EVERYTHING!” I hesitate, wiping my tears and sniffling the snot away. I then give him another once-over. “And I’m taking it all back…”

Antonio starts to turn towards me. I imagine he sees the flash of my knife, but it’s too late. I stab him through the chest, through his heart, the heart that was once mine.

Blood gurgles in his throat and starts dripping from his lips, the lips I had kissed passionately so many times. I kiss them now. He moans. Unfortunately, not the same type of moan I once used to elicit from him.

His hand flails for the door handle. But it’s no use anyway. I have the child lock on.

I open the curtain and drag him to the back. His head lolls to the side and his eyes grow wide as a pair of cold blue eyes stare back at him. He opens his mouth to scream but all that comes out is more blood. I grab the dismembered head by its matted blonde hair (now with red highlights!) and chuck it to the side to make some space. I do the same with the other pieces of the waify frame, pausing before throwing aside one of the hands to pluck off the wedding band and place it on my own finger.

“I WILL have your heart Antonio! It will ALWAYS be mine!” I whisper in his ear before taking up my knife once more.