Eris:
No, it’s not.
The point was comfort. An escape.
You weren’t supposed to be… real.
The dots appear and disappear, teasing me with his response.
Locke:
Then why do you keep treating us like we are?
My breath catches in my lungs, and I scowl at his rebuttal.
That is the real question, though… Isn’t it?
Not who they are.
Not how they’re watching me.
Or whether I should be afraid.
But why do I keep giving myself to something I know damn well I shouldn’t entertain?
My chest tightens, and I exhale harshly as I type the one truth I shouldn’t admit.
Eris:
Because I didn’t know how not to.
And then you were real… So why stop?
I toss my phone to the other side of the bed and lose myself in the metallic wallpaper across from me, following the lines from ceiling to floor. The room feels uncomfortably quiet, the air stagnant and stiff, like it will creak if I move too fast.
Like the app isn’t the only thing watching.
Like last night changed something…
In me or them or all of us?
I don’t know.
And now, I’m not sure which version of them I’ll get when the reply comes through.
Or which version of me they’re pulling out of the dark.
“Ithink I pulled a muscle,” I mutter into my mimosa.
Roo doesn’t look up to acknowledge me. She’s too busy trying to get a selfie where her citrus wedge and cleavage coexist peacefully in the same frame.
“You think?” she asks with a snort. “I know you did. You limped into the cafe like a hungover doe freshly wrecked by a truck named Regret.”
I attempt a glare. A very weak one. It’s hard to fully commit when my thighs are still sort of shaking from last night. Call it overexertion or dehydration… But?—
“It wasn’t regret,” I say, slouching deeper into the iron chair on the quaint patio.
Roo finally looks up, sunglasses sliding down her nose so I can see the golden hue of her hazel eyes. Her expression softens just a little, enough for me to grow suspicious.
