B
B
Y
L
I hit the delete button.
L
I
I hit the delete button.
After a minute, I pressed the delete button again.
The frustrated groan that pushed its way out of my chest was exhausting. I started typing in Tristan's porn name only to stop, delete some letters, type a few more in, and then delete all of them. I knew that if I went through with looking up Robby Lingus on Google or any other search engine, there wasn't any going back.
Do it.
Don't do it.
Don't do it.
It really wouldn't be a good idea to see his videos, I repeated to myself at least six times.
Not a good idea.
Not a good idea.
His words from yesterday tumbled through my head. He said he'd call me. It was ten, and I hadn't heard from him. It was hard to beat back the disappointment I felt creeping over me. I hated it when people said they would do something, and then didn't. It ate away at me little by little until I was just a measly crumb.
What else could I have expected? Guys seemed to lack manners because they worried so much about what other people thought, and obviously, Tristan wasn't an exception to that. It was ridiculous of me to expect him to be any different from what seemed to be every other guy on the planet. In fact, he was one of the worst.
He fucked girls on video.
I thought that if I said it enough, I might become desensitized to the words and general idea.
As soon as the idea echoed through my thought process, I felt like vomiting.Hejust wants a friend. Tristan told me that he wanted to be friends and most friends didn't talk to each other everyday. Right? I had no reason to be jealous or upset. My cat's loud purring distracted me from my man-hating. Matlock, named after my favorite old TV lawyer, was a big, white, siamese-mix that showed up on my doorstep last Christmas. He was a hermit and kind of a bastard at times, but I'd grown to love him.
Said bastard was walking over my keyboard like he owned both the computer and me. I belonged to him, not the other way around. I had to push him off my laptop, otherwise he'd try to sit on it or lick the screen like he'd done so many times in the past. He hissed at me for kicking him off before sauntering over to the other side of the couch and flicking his tail back and forth.
He reminded me of Josh in cat-form.
I had to force myself to open up my Christian files to work on my newest book. I'd been publishing my own murder-mysteries for about a year and a half. I sold them under my penname, Sophia Nylund, after two of my favorite Golden Girls. My dad used to blame my lack of grandparents as the reason why I liked to watch shows with seniors through middle and most of high school. I wasn't making enough money to quit my day job but even if I would've been, I didn't think I would. I liked my kids. Maybe in a few years I'd think differently, probably when children became the spawn of Satan in general, and I hated them all.
The sound of my phone beeping unexpectedly made Matlock hiss at it.
New Message
Magellan
Showed up on the blank screen of my phone, and even though I should have taken my sweet-ass time unlocking the phone, and then reading his message, I didn't. The little white box just said:
Please tell me you aren’t busy.
Hmm. I wrote back a simple:No, when I should have written yes so he didn't think I was sitting around waiting for his call— when I was.
