I’m home.
Thanks for checking.
Against my better judgment, different words materialize on the screen.
I press send.
Me:Are you awake?
The feeling expands in my gut, both a warning and a buzz. I take another long drag on the cigarette, my hands trembling as my gaze fuses to the blue text bubble.
Don’t be awake.
Please be awake.
The message shows Read. A moment later, his three dots dance to life.
Chase:I’m here.
I let out a breath that feels like relief.
I wonder what he’s doing.
Lying in bed. Carving wood into instruments. Writing music. Staring at the sickle-shaped moon.
My eyes snap shut, tamping down the visuals that don’t matter.
Me:I’m sorry about earlier.
The text goes through with a swoosh.
Chase:I already told you, you never need to apologize to me.
A smile twitches on my lips.
Me:Because you lost that privilege when you kidnapped me?
It takes a few minutes before he starts typing again.
Chase:Yeah. But also because you don’t owe anyone an apology for feeling what you feel. For being vulnerable or scared. What happened tonight was a human moment. That’s nothing to be sorry about.
My throat stings at the unexpected response. It was deeper than I was anticipating.
The floodgates crack open.
Me:Can I ask you something?
Chase:Go ahead.
I exhale a plume of smoke through my nose, watching as it evaporates into the moon.
Me:I know you’ve been through a lot. With your sister. My problems seem insignificant compared to that, but… How do we separate who we are from all we’ve experienced?
His reply is quick. Like he knows exactly what to say.
Chase:We don’t.
Chase:But our experiences aren’t all we are.
