Hunter
She chewed a hole straight through my pants while I wasn’t looking. Sneaky little shit.
I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
Me
She looks pleased with herself
Hunter
She is. Too cute for her own good.
I look at the photo again, wishing it was his face and not his leg. Wishing I could look into his eyes.
I want to tell him I called in today. That I’ve called in a lot this month.
I want to tell him I’m barely functioning.
I want to tell him that I’m not sure I can keep doing this.
I don’t.
Me
I think I’m coming down with something
Hunter
Percentage?
My heart lurches.
Me
Not that. Just a cold or something. Probably be fine in a couple of days
I can’t believe I just lied to him, but I also can’t take it back. I don’t want him to see this. I don’t want him to think of me this way. The lie feels sour and wrong. It’s not the relationship I want to have with him.
But even more than that, I don’t want him to be tainted by me. Maybe this is catching after all.
Hunter
Let me know if you need anything.
His words are kind. Neutral. Exactly what I’ve come to expect from him. He’s gentle without expectations. He’s soft without even trying. He’s safe. And I lied to him.
I shouldn’t have lied.
That thought swirls around in my head until I’m almost nauseous.
I should tell him I’m not okay. That getting dressed is impossible. That breathing is more work than I can manage. That I’m exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t touch.
The longer I wait, the harder it gets, and the longer I let it go without responding, the more impossible texting back feels.
He’s too kind for this, anyway. He deserves better than this. Than a friend—if that’s what we are—who can’t even function like a normal human.
Maybe letting him go is the kindest thing I can do. For him. And for me.
