When I’m finished, I pull out the phone and sit on the couch. The screen lights up and my chest tightens before I can stop it.
Notifications. Missed calls. Texts.
Margot.
I open the thread.
The messages scroll up from the bottom—days of conversation between my mother and someone pretending to be me. I read them with my heart in my throat.
Hey. I'm sorry I left like that. I just needed some space. Things with the guys have been rough. Staying with a friend from class. I'm okay. I love you.
My voice. My patterns. The lowercase, the spare punctuation, the run-togetherloveyou. They nailed it. I can't tell the difference between the fake texts and my real ones, and the fact that Atlas and Bane studied me closely enough to replicate my voice to my own mother makes my chest tight in a way I can't quite name.
Gratitude, maybe. Or vertigo.
Margot's replies are Margot. Worried. Gentle. Reaching.
Sweetheart are you sure you're okay? You left so fast. I woke up and your room was— I was worried. Which friend? Do you need anything? I can come get you. Please just tell me you're safe.
I love you more. Please call me tomorrow? Just so I can hear your voice?
Goodnight sweetheart. I love you. Please call me tomorrow. Just want to hear your voice.
Three times she asked me to call. Three times they texted back instead. Because they can fake my words but they can't fake my voice, and Margot would know in one syllable that the person on the other end of the line wasn't her son.
I close the thread. Stare at the ceiling.
Then I open a new message. Type Bane's name.
The cursor blinks.
Hey….
Delete.
I just wanted to say…
Delete.
I hope you got home okay. I keep thinking about…
Delete.
Fuck.
The other night when you held me I felt…
Delete. Delete. Delete.
FUCK.
I close the message app. Set the phone face-down on the cushion beside me. He's home. He's with his brothers. He's probably asleep in his own bed, in his own room, in a house where the walls aren't concrete and no one is watching through cameras. He doesn't need a text from the omega stepbrother who complicated his life.
He has enough to deal with.
And I’m an idiot.
And a coward.
