Another blink.
Seventy-two more blinks.
And then all the blood drains from my face as I let out a horrified wheeze, my lungs shrinking to sapped little prunes.
Oh my God.
No. Delete. Undo.
Hands violently shaking, I shimmy my thumbs across the keypad, my cheeks the same shade as the red velvet cake I devoured after dinner.
Me:Shit. No. I’m sorry. I meant to send that to Kenna.
Me:Oh god. Please remove your eyes immediately.
His bubbles move.
Disappear.
Move again.
Disappear.
I’m moments away from launching myself over the balcony railing when his text appears.
Chase:…
What?
No. He can’t reply with that. I need photographic evidence that his eyes have been removed from his face or I’m jumping.
I will. I’m going to.
Leaping from my seat, I start frantically pacing the minimal surface area, my fingers carving through my hair so hard my scalp burns. I don’t know what to say. He needs to reply with something else. Anything but nothing.
Me:I’m unraveling. It’s not pretty. Please say something.
Several seconds pass.
Chase:Sorry. Processing.
I blanch.
Me:What does that mean??
Chase:It means I’m a guy. And my imagination doesn’t suck.
Me:Oh my god. Please don’t say suck.????
A beat.
Chase:Good night, Annie.
I’m not sure how to respond. So I don’t. The damage is done.
Eye contact tomorrow will be harrowing at best.
My cheeks burn with the heat of a dozen forest fires in the dead of July as I click off the screen and shove my phone into my pocket, swallowing hard.
