I type the words, “See you there,” and click send.
Martin’s phone chimes again, flashing and vibrating. He doesn’t look at it. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second, then he falters.
The next thing I know, I’m flying through the air, over Martin, lunging for the phone in his hand. The sofa groans, and I hear my phone clatter to the floor.
“What are you doing?” he grunts, trying to keep the phone away from my wild hands.
I’m on top of him, my knee in between his thighs, my side warm against his chest where my shirt has pulled up. He’s squirming under me, but I’ve got both hands around his phone, which is wrapped in his strong fingers. He thrashes and throws his other arm around me, wrapping me in his strength. I feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. We both thrash and pull, but I’m determined to get that phone out of his hand. Breathlessly, I wrestle the phone around just enough to read the notification that just came through, and I freeze, becoming dead weight. I’m solidly on top of Martin, adrenaline pumping, and I can’t help but feel a transfer of heat from his core, enough to make my insides melt. I slump over him, and he stops thrashing, turning the phone to face the wall.
“See you there,” his last notification said. My message was printed on Martin’s screen. I can’t unsee it.
My world begins to implode in tiny spirals. Why is my message on Martin’s phone? How could that possibly happen? There’s only one explanation, but it can’t land. I can’t let it have a perch anywhere near my brain. I turn to look at him, inches from his face. I’m straddling one of his thighs, which flinches, and I feel his breath on my face in short gasps. My gaze drops to his mouth, which is hanging open, and then back to his eyes. His face changes colors again with the room, a rich, vibrant green.
“How?” I demand. I’m speaking way too loud for being so close, but the world is imploding so I can’t help it. “What is my text doing on your phone?”
Part of me wants him to chuckle, turn the phone to me, and show me how I’ve misunderstood. Part of me wants to remain straddling him this closely for a while, feeling his heat. Part of me wants to scream.
He doesn’t respond. The phone doesn’t move.
I push away from his chest, sliding back on his knee. His face says nothing. His Adam’s apple rises and falls.
I grip the front of his shirt, grabbing the end of his necklace in the wad. “It’s you!” The words come out so loudly it’s startling, but Martin remains motionless. Doesn’t flinch.
“It’s you!” I repeat. “You are my…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Liam,” he starts, but I’m already moving. I’m off the couch and spinning, looking for something like I have belongings to gather. I have nothing. My mind is spinning. “Liam, let me explain.”
My face flushes and I burst into tears, my eyes feel like they might explode. “It’s you?” I’m pointing and screaming and wiping the back of my hand across my face. “How?” My voice is fracturing, “Why?”
He reaches for me, standing, and misses my flailing arm. I’m spinning again. I can’t look at him.
“I have to get out of here!” I’m yelling at myself now through hot tears. My face is burning. “What were you thinking?” I don’t know if I’m screaming at myself or Martin, but I stop spinning and head for the door.
The last image I see is Martin, stepping toward the door, one arm outstretched, the other gripping his phone, speechless, with eyes pleading at me. The image is blurred by sharp tears. My face is hot as I storm out the door. It’s the only way I know torelieve it. I think I hear Martin saying something at me as I flee, but I can’t make it out. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get there fast. I don’t even hear my truck start, and the next thing I know, I’m no longer at Martin’s. I drive to nowhere and I drive there quickly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I just feel stupid. I feel manipulated. I feel lied to. My phone pings and I read the notification. “Liam, can we talk please?”
I flip my phone over. Power it down. I can’t look at it.
My world is spinning and it feels like gravity has stopped. Everything is floating free.
How could he do this to me? This must be how people who have been scammed feel, except I’ve been swindled by my best friend. I can’t even think the words.
I have finally made it home and am curling myself into an ever-tightening ball on the corner of my sofa. I feel like my skin has shrunk and doesn’t fit anymore. My jaw aches like I’ve been chewing sand. I curl my head into my knees, squeezing hard, and begin to quietly shrink, trying to fit back into my skin. A floodgate of tears opens and I can’t think straight, then hear myself howling, and stop when I realize how stupid I sound, then start again. My clothes feel hot on my skin.
My mind starts ticking through the moments of the last several weeks and my body cringes with every recollection. I stole a book from the bookstore, my feet dig into the couch. I sang a song at that bar, my knuckles whiten around my shins, pulling ever tighter. My shirt stretches across my back. I tried on all those stupid clothes, I visited that old man, unbolted his stupid dresser. My eyes can’t possibly close any tighter, but I try. Somehow I have to block out all of these ludicrous things I fell for. It was all a trick and I fell right in like an idiot. I’ve beentraveling around town making a fool of myself, being lied to at every turn. And by Martin. I can’t think it. My brain has no space for his name in this turmoil. I scream into my knees, tears soaking into my clothes where I’m burying my face. Nothing makes the pictures go away. They’re still there. I scream again. There might be words, but I can’t make them out over the chaos that’s happening in my brain. I imagine myself in that jewelry shop, boldly telling the clerk my story. The hope I possessed in that moment. The trust I displayed. How could I be so blind? I uncurl myself with a loud roar, and then curl back tightly. Nothing makes the shame go away.
It was Martin. This whole time. Martin! I think about our digital date. About our together-separately date. It was him all along. What was he thinking? Why would he do this to me? I feel dread pressing on me like the ceiling is collapsing. My vision goes dark with rage, then embarrassment. Why? I scream the word aloud to my knees.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on my door and a word spoken outside: “Liam?”
I feel like there’s a monster outside my door. Where can I run? Where can I hide? I’m looking around the room for something to fight off the monster. There’s nothing. I move to the far side of the sofa and curl up tighter to escape.
The monster knocks again, gently, three little taps, and speaks: “Liam, can we please talk?”
I feel my mouth trying to form words. None will come.
