I pick the phone back up. Tilt it. Frame the shot from the waistband up to my chest.
I bite down a laugh. I never used to take pics like this. Never let myself. Felt too weird. Too much.
Now? Now I wanna save this version of me. In case I lose him again. In case one day I’m fifty and soft and wondering if I ever had it.
I adjust the phone again, and I take the picture.
I smile proudly.
I don’t look like I just got cheated on. I look like I fuck. I look like IknowI fuck.
Tuck. My phone falls and slams me in the face.
My nose would scream if that was possible.
I hate it here.
I hate myself.
Every time I try to feel like a functioning person, I end up doing dumb shit like this.
Okay. I’m fine. I grab the phone again to check the—
Wait. Wait wait wait.
No. No no no. NO.
What the actual fuck. I’m going to cry. I’m literally about to cry. What the fuck do you mean "To Gio".
I freeze. That’s HIS chat. His goddamn name is at the top of the screen. I am literally inside HIS chat. I delete it fast but… he already fucking opened it.
While I was busy complaining about my stupid nose.
Oh my God. I remember. It clicks.
I opened the camera earlier. To flip him off. To send him a picture of my middle finger because he was being an asshole. I never closed it. That’s why my camera was open. I just sent my sluttiest thirst trap to the man I insult on instinct. To the walking red flag with a face I wanna punch.
GOD.
I sent him my "I’m hot and alone and maybe a little feral" pic...
I slap both hands over my mouth. I yeet the phone across the bed. HARD. It bounces. Lands face down. Good. Stay there.
Diethere. My heart is doing laps in my chest. Oh my fucking god, I can’t breathe.
I’m crouched in the corner of my room.
I’m NOT touching that phone. Nope. I’m not going near it. I’m not even gonna look at it.
He opened it. HE OPENED IT. IT SAYS "SEEN."
Why did he open it so fast. WHY IS HE EVEN AWAKE. GO TO SLEEP YOU MOTORBIKE DEMON. What if he thinks I sent it on purpose… That’s it. I ruined my life. I deserve pain now. Because I am an idiot. Capital I. I am pure shame. The president of Idiotland. Pure humiliation. It’s over.
He’s gonna bring this up on my wedding day.
I grip the wall. I’m done.
I’m not going to the meeting tomorrow. Or ever. I’m leaving Italy. I’m deleting my number. I’m changing my name.
