Font Size:
• • •
Then I walk back inside.
Sit on the floor.
Pick up my phone.
Force of habit.
The way breathing is force of habit.
The way thinking about Cassian is a force of habit.
I open his contact.
Type something.
Send.
Failed.
I try again.
Failed.
I go to his contact page.
Try to call him.
Blocked.
• • •
I try three more times. Send more messages.
Nothing goes through.
He turned away from my face.
And then he blocked my number.
He stood there and looked at me — crying, begging, hand on his window — and then he went and blocked my number.
• • •
Something in my chest just —
stops.
Not a panic attack.
Not yet.
Just — a stopping.
Like a clock.
Like something that was running and suddenly isn’t.
