Lana pulled the stop request cord, then pushed her way to the back door of the crowded SEPTA bus. When the vehicle slowed to a stop and the doors opened with a squeak, she stepped down onto the sidewalk. With a grey cloud of exhaust smog left behind, the bus pulled back into the evening traffic.

She started the short walk through the Philadelphia neighborhood she now called home. After a long day at school, she was exhausted and knew that there was no way she was going to have enough energy to make herself a proper dinner. So, she stopped off at her favorite pizza shop to pick up a slice of veggie pizza.

Fifteen minutes after she stepped off the bus, Lana was sliding her key into the lock of her apartment door and sighing in relief. Finally, after being out and about for nearly twelve hours, she was home.

After closing and locking the door behind her, she switched on the light of her small, yet cozy living room. She then went back into the kitchen to drop her dinner off before going to her bedroom to change.

She quickly went back into her bedroom to change out of her work attire and into yoga pants and a t-shirt. While she wandered back into the kitchen, she threw her now-wavy hair up into a messy bun.

Just as she was about to open the brown paper bag that held her dinner, Lana realized that she hadn’t checked her phone in almost two hours. She reluctantly set aside her pizza and unzipped the front pocket of her bag to retrieve her cell. Sliding her thumb across the screen to unlock the iPhone, her heart stopped, then dropped to her stomach when she saw that she had one missed call and a voicemail from a contact that she probably should have deleted a long time ago, but couldn’t bear to.

Mike’s Cell

Lana began to feel light-headed and her legs went weak. She slowly slid down to the kitchen floor and closed her eyes as her body trembled and her heart pounded in her chest.

What could he possibly be calling her about? He had no right to be calling her and leaving her a voicemail. She thought she made that very clear to him before.

She was debating whether to listen to the voicemail or delete it when a horrible thought came to her mind.

What if he was calling because something terrible had happened? Something could have happened to Mama or Papa Fuentes...or one of the boys...or maybe even himself.

With a slew of terrible scenarios running through her mind, she quickly tapped the phone’s necessary buttons to play the voicemail. When Mike’s slurs began to sound from the tiny earpiece, Lana’s eyes squeezed shut and she willed herself not to cry as the voice that she desperately missed filled her ears.

"Laaana, it’s me. I wanted to talk to you, but, of course, you didn’t answer. You always were bad at answering your phone. Remember how I used to always yell at you about that?
“So, we’re in London, on tour with Sleeping With Sirens and Mayday Parade. It’s been really awesome. We’re at a club and they played that song that you used to dance around to while you cleaned the apartment. It made me think about you...so then I got really drunk...and now I’m hiding in the bathroom ‘cause if Jaime knew that I was calling you, he’d probably kick my ass.”

There was a long pause, during which only the faint sound of pounding bass and quiet sniffling could be heard from Mike’s end.

"Shit, Lana, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Everyone’s so mad at me because of what I did to you. The guys will barely talk to me and my own mom can’t even look at me. I’ve even had fans come up to me and tell me about how much of an asshole I am.
“I fucked everything up. I wish I could have a do-over. I wish you were still in San Diego, too. God, I miss you so fucking much it hurts. I should have been there for you when you needed me. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

There was another lull in Mike’s drunken confession. At this point, Lana was curled up in a ball, leaning against the cabinets while silent sobs racked her body. Now that Mike was telling her all of the things she wanted to hear seven months ago, it was all too much for her.

"Y’know, after you left, I bought that ring you wanted. It’s at home, on your dresser, in the blue box with the white ribbon. I wish I could give it to you.”

With that, the voicemail was over and an electronic voice asked Lana if she wanted to replay the message. She set her phone down beside her and let out a shaky breath.

Why did Mike have to do this to her? She was finally starting to move on from her time in San Diego, after months of sadness and suffering. But then, he decided to waltz - or drunkenly stumble - back into her life.

So fucking typical of him.

With anger surging through her body, she picked her phone and herself up from the floor. Mike had another thing coming if he thought he was going to be able to win her back with a drunk dial!

Lana opened her fridge and took out a bottle of water. While she took small sips from it in an attempt to calm her unsettled stomach, her mind became a jumbled mess.

Sure, Mike hurt her in the past, but she loved him. Oh, did she love him.

But what kind of self-respecting woman would she be if she took him back after everything he did to her?

“Dammit,” Lana muttered before she picked up her phone and dialed Mike’s number. It went straight to voicemail, much to her relief. Mike’s pre-recorded voice told her to leave a message after the beep, and Lana took a deep breath before doing just that. “Mike, it’s Lana...”