10 Things Before I Do

Chapter 4 — Missed Calls

I woke up the next day feeling hazy, the edges of last night still blurred.

It took me a second to realize I hadn’t even changed out of my clothes. My jeans clung uncomfortably, and my shirt reeked of ramen broth, alcohol, and cigarette smoke—a whole night bottled up in fabric. I grimaced, half disgusted, half amused at myself.

Figures I’d crash like this. I’d been too wound up—from the drinking, from Jasper, from everything—to even think about showering.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand, blinking against the brightness. For half a heartbeat, I almost convinced myself maybe it had all been a dream. That I’d made it up.

But the proof was right there: the thread of messages from Jasper, the impulsive yes, and his last text before midnight—Good night, my partner in crime.

All of it had been real.

So I did what I always do when I need to untangle my head—I smoked.

I grabbed the pack from the nightstand, stepped out onto the balcony, and lit up. The first drag burned its way into my lungs, the familiar sting giving me something to focus on. I told myself it was soothing, that the nicotine was smoothing over the restless buzz in my chest, calming everything down.

But that was just the lie I always told myself.

Because Jasper’s voice still rang in my ears, the way he always told me to quit. The way he hated seeing me burn stick after stick whenever we were together.

And after everything he said last night, I knew one cigarette wasn’t going to cut it. It took two, maybe three, before I felt the haze settle, the kind that wasn’t quite peace but close enough.

I finally went back inside, planning to collapse on my bed—only then noticing the buzz of my phone. The screen lit up with a string of missed calls, notifications stacking one after another.

All of them from Jasper.

For some reason, the sight of his name on my screen made my stomach twist. We’d been texting for years, but this was different. After everything he said last night, I wasn’t sure I was ready to see what came next.

Was he serious? About the list? About me? About any of it?

I let the phone buzz in my hand, the screen lighting up and dimming with each notification. My thumb hovered, hesitated, pulled back. It was ridiculous—acting like a teenager again, scared of opening a message. But the weight behind his words last night had shifted something.

Finally, I exhaled, steadying myself, and tapped the screen.

I built up the courage to open his message.

It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t even a proper message.

It was a photo.

A notebook page, edges frayed, Jasper’s handwriting sprawled across it in uneven lines. At the top, half underlined, were the words:

10 Stupid Things Before I Do

Beneath it, nothing looked neat. No numbers in order, no clean bullet points—just a chaotic brain dump:

weed (idk?? maybe??)

eat sugar all day?? cake?? ice cream??

fake condo tours lol Makati/BGC??

7-11 run midnight fits = trashiest clothes possible

vlog in palengke (don’t laugh)

tattoos?? henna?? (cheap lang)

fake bday party? balloons?

yes to everything for 1 day

prank call?? radio station?? (do those still exist though lol)

ukay fit competition—ugliest wins

Some were crossed out, others had arrows pointing in random directions. Next to “weed,” he’d scribbled three question marks, like he was still debating himself.

Another message followed right after:

“Draft 0. Needs work. You in?”

*****

I stared at my phone for a few good minutes.

I didn’t realize how serious Jasper was—I just thought it was drunk rambling. But here it was in writing: messy, chaotic, and absolutely Jasper.

My chest buzzed with nerves. He wasn’t joking. He really wanted this.

Finally, I forced my thumbs to move.

Me: "This looks like the diary of a fifteen-year-old delinquent."

Three dots blinked.

Jasper: "Bold talk for someone who smokes like a chimney."

Me: "At least my bad habits aren’t in bullet points."

Another pause. Then:

Jasper: "Don’t pretend you’re not into it. You love chaos."

I bit down a smile, chewing at my lips like it would help me think straight.

Me: "Fine. But if we get arrested, I’m REALLY telling your mom it was your idea."

Almost immediately, his reply came:

Jasper: "Deal. Partner in crime."

The words glowed on my screen, heavier than they should’ve been. I tucked the phone against my chest, exhaled a shaky laugh, and reached for another cigarette I didn’t really need.

*****

The phone buzzed again not long after.

This time, it wasn’t a text. It was a call.

Jasper’s name filled the screen, glowing insistently.

My thumb hovered over accept, but I froze. The memory of his voice from last night—soft, serious, almost too close—flashed back, and I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I let it ring out.

A minute later, it buzzed again. Then again.

By the third missed call, I paced the length of my tiny living room, cigarette dangling forgotten between my fingers, ash bending dangerously at the tip. It wasn’t like Jasper to chase me like that. Normally he’d joke about me being slow to reply, call me a hermit, then drop it. But now… it feels urgent.

And the truth was, I wasn’t ready to face him.

Not after the list. Not after those words—I trust you more than anyone.

So I let the phone buzz on the table, the screen lighting up and dimming like a heartbeat I didn’t want to listen to. Each ring made me want to answer, but each ring made my chest get tighter.

By the time it finally stopped, I realized my hands were trembling. I stubbed out my half-burned cigarette, lit another right after, and told myself maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll be braver.

But deep down, I already knew: I was terrified.

Terrified of what he might say. Terrified of what I might say back.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do—hide.

I pulled the curtains shut, dimmed the room, and queued up the anime I’d meant to start last night. One episode bled into the next, colors and voices flashing across the screen. It wasn’t even about the show anymore—it was about filling the silence, drowning out the thoughts that kept clawing at the back of my mind.

Every time my phone buzzed, I flinched. Once, twice, again. The sound cut through the dialogue, sharp and insistent, but I refused to look. I just hit “next episode,” as if that click could keep reality at bay.

Hours passed like that. I laughed at jokes I barely registered, winced at fight scenes I didn’t really follow. The only thing I noticed with any clarity was the steady glow of my phone, lighting up in the corner of the bedstand. Jasper’s name, over and over again.

Each time, my chest tightened. Each time, I told myself I’d answer the next one. But I never did.

By the time night fell, my room was heavy with the stale mix of smoke and instant noodles. The credits rolled for what felt like the tenth time, but I couldn’t remember a single plot point.

I lay back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling, phone still buzzing beside me like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence. My hand hovered over it, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

Instead, I pulled the blanket over my head, pretending the glow wasn’t there, pretending Jasper wasn’t waiting.

But even in the dark, even with the anime voices still echoing faintly in my ears, I couldn’t escape the truth: he was everywhere.

And I was still running.