At first, we made it work—constant texts, nightly calls, stolen moments of laughter that made the distance feel less unbearable.
But now, it’s hard to tell if it’s just my insecurities or if I have a legitimate reason to be worried.
I hate that it feels like I’m reaching for something slipping through my fingers.
Nate? Are you okay?
I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I’m sorry.
Please text me and let me know you’re okay. I’m worried.
ILYSM xoxo
Still nothing…
Hey…
Camila: Still no word?
Nope. I’m going to go to bed. I can’t wait any longer.
Camila: Do you want me to call him?
I hesitate, torn between desperation and being too much of a pushy girlfriend who acts clingy and panics the second her boyfriend doesn’t respond immediately.
But their boyfriends aren’t Nate Davenport.
No, it’s okay. I’m sure he has a good excuse.
Camila: Fuck that shit, Maddie. If he says he will call, he should call. Don’t put up with that
A small smile tugs at my lips. Camila has no filter, no patience for crap.
She’ssoNew York, and I love her for it.
She reminds me of Addie.
Maybe that’s why they’re the only two girls I trust completely.
I know. But you know your brother isn’t a jerk. He’ll call.
Camila: He’s my brother, and I love him. But if his excuse isn’t that he fell asleep or got hit by a car, I’m cutting his dick off.
CAMILA! Don’t even say that.
Camila: Bad joke. Sorry.
Camila: I can text Leo and see if he’s with Nate.
Nah…I’m going to sleep. <3<3<3
Morning light filters through my curtains as I blink against the sleep still weighing me down.
My hand fumbles for my phone, and my heart stutters when I see a notification.
Nate.
Thank God!
