Have I ever thought about pulling the trigger this close to my head?
Yeah.
But I’m a coward.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I exhale through my nose and lower the gun, then grab my phone with my free hand.
Unknown
Are you scared?
I glance around the woods. I don’t like this, but I’ve got the gun and this person has a fucking phone.
Terrified.
Seconds later, they text me back.
Unknown
Good boy.
I narrow my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek.Who the fuck?
I debate if I should keep this up. It seems like a waste of my time. I stare at my screen and just as I decide I’m not going to entertain bullshit, another text pops up from someone else.
It’s Sloane Estelle Stevens. The only reason I know her middle name is thanks to Remi; Sloane would never tell me herself. As peppy as she is, she doesn’t let you know too much about her. She’s secretive in a way that’s hard to define. I knew her in high school but only in that we went to the same school and she was a cheerleader while I pretended to give a fuck about being on the football team. Otherwise, Sloane is the sunset, and I’m still chasing the rays.
We’ve never even kissed even though I’ve thought about fucking her way too many times. And it’s weird, because I’ve slept with Remi twice and I’m not sure Sloane knows about both times, but then again, she’s never asked, so here we are.
Sloane
What are you doing this weekend?
I almost laugh out loud. It’s past midnight, Saturday crawled into Sunday, and this feels like a hookup text, but Sloane doesn’t do that with me. Maybe she’s drunk and she thinks she’s texting her last lay. But thinking of her in a corrupted way is hard in my mind. She’s like sunshine. Soft and warm and gorgeous. She would be a nice place to land.
Are you drunk?
I ask it jokingly, but something twists in my gut after I send the text. She can do whatever she wants of course. But she’s precious. I don’t want anyone to ruin her even as she fucks around. Not like I ruined it with Remi. Me and Cortland both, and Chase and Brinklin too, but one of them is dead now and the other knows he fucked up.
My screen brightens and my heart races but when I look down, I see it’s not Sloane who texted me back.
It’s the unknown number.
Unknown
Sloane Stevens, huh?
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I cast my eyes around the woods, then spin around, gun still in one hand.
Fuck this.
I call the number, pressing the phone to my ear.
But it only rings, and rings, and fucking rings.
It doesn’t go to voicemail, on account of it being full.
