Void had responded almost immediately after my last message.
Let’s play a game.
Okay, Jigsaw.
Three dots.
Brat.
I rolled my lips between my teeth at the response, trying to suppress a smile.
What game?
You answer one of my questions, and I’ll answer one of yours. If you don’t answer, you owe me a picture.
What kind of picture?
The kind you don’t want getting out.
I worked my bottom lip between my teeth.
Does that mean you’ll owe me a picture if you don’t answer?
Yes.
Deal.
What is so out of control in your life that you need someone to take it from you?
Fuck. Should have seen that coming.
I pulled a paper off my green pile, trying to distract myself. I didn’t have to answer. Icouldsend a photo.
I don’t technically know this person. I shouldn’tcareabout what he thought. But I…liked him. As much as you can like someone you’ve never seen. I liked talking to him. I liked flirting with him. And, as weird as it sounds, because everything about this was so not normal, I liked feelingnormal.
I can’t control when I get sick.
Shit. I was doing this. I was telling a complete stranger my deepest insides.
I can’t control getting better.
I’d never been skydiving like my sister, but I did let her talk me into a horrifying hike where you had to hold a chain to keep from tumbling hundreds of feet into death. The adrenaline that day made my knees wobble and legs shake.
That was how I felt replying to Void.
I can’t control my fiancé cheating on me. I don’t fucking control anything.
Adrenaline burned my throat. I was all at once naked and on fire.
I waited for him to nope out. To realize he’d matched with something broken.
Good girl.
Once again praise settled like wine in my bloodstream. There must be something seriously wrong with me that Ilikebeing calledgood girl. I bet my sister would say it was unresolved daddy issues.
In books, when someone called the heroine a good girl, it was in response to something sexual. He’d called me a good girl for exposing my insides to him.
Are you married?
