It was pitiful, looking at all the unanswered and unread texts I’d sent. I felt pathetic. Desperate and obsessed and fucking pathetic.
Me:
My philosophy class got canceled, so if you’re free around two, you should come to the room
Do you want to practice our song today?
Dakota?
??
Are you okay?
Did something happen?
Hey where are you?
This isn’t funny
Please text me back
At least let me know if you’re okay or not
Hello?
Dakota I’m seriously worried about you, I don’t know if you lost your phone or something but please text me or call me if you see this
Had he decided he didn’t like me anymore? Had he ever liked me in the first place? Was this all just a game to him?
The doubts grew and festered in my mind, a relentless onslaught of all the fears I’d ignored or shoved down deep.
The past few weeks, I’d been slowly warming myself to the idea of liking him. Of it being safe to like him. Of throwing my fears to the wind and embracing what he had to offer. What I wanted to offer him.
I was torn between being worried something seriously bad had happened to him and being devastated that I’d actually been played by him.
I was feeling those things with an intensity that was almost paralyzing.
I didn’t truly believe he was avoiding me on purpose. I didn’t think everything that had happened between us was just some game to him.
I didn’t.
But I was so insecure in myself and my worth that I couldn’t help but give that thought just a little bit of weight.
I didn’t want to go to class on that second day. The sadness that engulfed me almost convinced me to just lie there in bed all day.
And when I realized the despair I was feeling because someone I hardly knew had ghosted me, I got angry instead. I stormed around our room and got dressed, cursing him out and telling myself I’d be just fucking fine, that I’d been fine for years and didn’t need a single goddamn person in my life.
The anger dissolved into an awful panic, and I wished the anger would come back.
I needed to distract myself, so I got dressed and headed out.
I was on my way to class when I saw Everett standing outside of the athletics building, talking to someone.
Would he know where Dakota was? He must, he was his brother.
He was the last person I wanted to ask, but here was an opportunity to possibly find out what was going on.
I made a beeline for Everett, and when he spotted me approaching him, a nasty smirk replaced the polite expression he’d been sporting.
