I’m already in bed.
Then sleep.
I can’t. There’s a thought bouncing around my mind and I need to settle it, first.
If I tell you what I’m wearing, will you leave me alone and go to sleep?
Yes, Headmistress J.
The heat seeps up to my face and neck.
I take another deep breath, and type.
I’m wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Happy?
Are you naked under the T-shirt?
I roll my eyes.
Yes.
What about under the shorts?
I’m wearing underwear.
What colour?
This is too much, now.
Please, just tell me what colour they are.
Pink.
I was close, then.
There are no unicorns.
There’s a brief pause, then he types again.
Will you take them off?
What?
The shorts.
My heart hammers against my ribcage.
Why should I?
I want to be the one to take them off, but seeing as I’m not there…
I consider my response for a few moments, before writing:
Even if I did it, you can’t see me.
But I already know what’s underneath.
I swallow, but my throat is dry.
