It reminded me a lot of Chandler's relentless pursuit.
Just as the phone's vibration was about to stop, I answered.
"Hello?"
Chandler hadn't expected me to pick up. After about ten seconds, he stammered, "Gisselle, I'm downstairs at your place. I didn't bring an umbrella, and it's freezing."
"Good, serves you right."
I spat out the words, calm and measured.
"You didn't move, right? I can see the lights are still on."
"So what? What, do you want me to invite you up for coffee before you leave?"
Chandler was left speechless.
Maybe he never expected me to become so sharp-tongued.
After all, during the six months we were together, I did whatever he asked and was the envy of everyone around me.
"Chandler, don't forget, my boyfriend is still at home. If you don't want to make a scene, you'd better leave, and don't ever call me again."
I said it all in one breath and hung up immediately. Given Chandler's pride, I was sure that no matter how shameless he might be, he wouldn't stoop so low as to keep pushing.
But it proved I was wrong.
Ten minutes later, I heard a loud banging at the door, each knock louder than the last, even drowning out the thunder.