Page 9 of A Royal Menace

I read the messages again, my teeth nibbling at my bottom lip as I try to decide what to do. Ignore them and let the conversation end? That would probably be the smart way to go. I don’t know this person, and now that he or she knows I’m getting their texts, they’ll stop sending them and we can both move on with our lives.

But on the other hand, I feel like I should saysomething. Let them know I wasn’t bothered by the messages. That they have no need to feel embarrassed on top of the grief they’re already experiencing.

Dropping the phone to the bed beside me, I heave out a long, noisy breath. I don’t know what the right choice is. If this person is being genuine, a nice response from me would be appropriate, right? But if they’re some sort of scammer trying to tug on my heartstrings so they can infiltrate my life and empty my bank account? Well, then, I’d be smart to disengage immediately.

But how do I know which is true?

Rolling out of bed and leaving my phone where it is, I head into the bathroom to empty my bladder. When I’m done washing my hands, I scrub my face and brush my teeth, my gaze darting toward the bed again and again to land on my phone.

I’m not going to be able to let this go. On the off-chance this person is being truthful, I need to say something.

Spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing my mouth, I dry my hands and head back to the bed. Plucking my phone from themattress, I climb in and prop my back against the headboard. After reading the messages one more time, I start to type.

Me:You don’t need to be sorry. You weren’t bothering me. I just felt like I was invading your privacy by reading messages meant for someone else. I’m very sorry for your loss.

I tap the icon to send the message, then force myself to put my phone down and not obsess over whether or not the person will respond. I start to climb back out of bed, but a text notification has me snapping back upright and snatching my phone up like a maniac.

760-555-9090:Thank you for your kindness. It’s been a tough week, and I’ve had to wear this mask of normalcy the whole time. It’s nice to talk to someone with whom I don’t have to pretend to be okay.

My brow furrows, and I’m typing back without a second thought.

Me:Why do you have to pretend to be okay? Wouldn’t the people in your life understand?

760-555-9090:Only a couple of people at my work know, and it’s the kind of job where I can’t really bring my personal life into the mix. My brother and my friends know, of course, but I don’t want them to worry about me, so I act like I’m okay. Just a little sad. I feel like I can’t really be honest with anyone, really. I can’t take the pity.

Me:Well, you can be honest with me.

I send the message without thinking, and a hollow feeling erupts in my chest. Oh, God. Why did I say that? I’m a stranger to this person. And they’re a stranger to me.

Even if everything they said is the God’s honest truth, it’s inappropriate, right? Or just plain weird. I wouldn’t be surprised if they end the conversation and block my number for good measure.

When no response comes through, I take a screenshot of the message thread and text it to Raven in a panic.

Me:Look what I did. I’m freaking out.

Raven:Why are you freaking out? You offered to be a friendly ear to a stranger. Some would call that empathetic. Kind, even. Don’t freak out.

Me:But what if he or she is a criminal, and I’ve just opened up myself to a love scam?

Raven:In love already?

Me:Shut up. You know what I meant.

Raven:Okay. Calm down. You can be a friendly ear if they’re legit, and if they’re not, just protect yourself. Don’t give them your real name or any other personal information. And if they ever ask for money, block the number. Easy peasy.

An alert for a message from the stranger pops up on my screen as I read Raven’s message, and I swallow thickly as I navigate back to our thread to read it.

760-555-9090:That’s very kind of you. But don’t you think it’s weird? Talking to a stranger about stuff like this? I don’t even know your name.

I bite my lip again, as I compose a response in my head. Should I tell them to just forget it? Itisweird, after all. But at the same time, the thought of ending…whatever this is leaves me feeling a bit bereft. I want to help if I can.

So, I hold my breath and type out a response.

Me:I think it’s better if we remain anonymous. You know, just in case one of us is a psycho-stalker. And by one of us, I mean you.

760-555-9090:Good plan. No personal information is smart. Maybe we can come up with nicknames?

I think about that for a moment, then nod to myself. My thumbs fly over the screen as a smile tugs at my lips.

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