Page 37 of Desserts for Stressed People

I probably shouldn’t feel as violated as I do. It’s my boyfriend who’s sending me pictures of his genitalia. I should open them, take screenshots and save them on my phone to threaten him later. But tears stain my cheeks in an instant. I don’t know if it’s because of the pictures, because he’s online, or because everything became real, but I enter the shower and cry until my fingers are pruny.

* * *

“You’re eating so little, lately.”

I don’t think I can muster the strength to look at Alex, and I’m surprised that when I do, he doesn’t turn into dust. But he doesn’t, and I lightly shrug. “I’m not hungry. I might be getting sick.”

“You should sleep early, then. You don’t look so good.”

I nod. I don’t care about the fact that he thinks I look bad. Maybe I do. After all, knowing your boyfriend sends nudes to another girl will do that to you. Nor do I care about the honesty in his words. If he wants me to get out of the way so he can chat with his next hot date, he can be my guest. “Yes, I think I’ll go to bed. Sleep on the couch tonight. Will you? I don’t want to get you sick too.”

He accepts way too quickly, and once again, I don’t care. I hole up in my bedroom, lie under the fluffy, thick blanket and rest my head on the pillow. I’m numb. All I can focus on is the scent of the new detergent I bought—it’s jasmine or something. For a second, it makes me feel better.

Five minutes later,Back to the Futureis on. I swear this isn’t the only movie I watch, but only the comfort Marty and Doc provide can soothe the tight bite at my stomach. Unfortunately, halfway through the movie, I don’t feel better. Emma called, Olivia texted—I ignored them both.

When my phone lights up for the third time that night, I huff and peek at it with a scowl. Except it’s Shane. Oh, God. It’s Shane texting me on RadaR.

Dropping the phone, I hop off the bed and watch it like it might attack me any minute now, then attempt a few steps toward it.

I didn’t check his last message, but I can see this one in the notification.

Shane:

I don’t like it as much now that I know it was a goodbye gift.

In an attempt to catch up with my heart jumping out of my chest, I sit. He’s talking about the key chain. He must be. He went there, he took it. And now he has it.

I can’t resist. I need to see what he said about it before, and I am the most impulsive and immature person in the world, but I open the chat. And when I see the previous message is an image, I click on it.

It’s him. I smile because he is smiling. His cocoa brown eyes sparkle with joy, and his fist is by the side of his lips, holding the key chain. The small silver DeLorean dangles next to his face.

He’s so handsome. As Heaven, I’ve only seen him in suits, and to say he looks born in them is an understatement. But as Nevaeh, I’ve had the luxury of seeing him in casual clothes, like the gray hoodie he’s wearing in this picture.

My eyes move frantically from one side to the other, trying to take in as many details before it’ll close, but when it does, I’ve barely even started. And now that my insatiable thirst and counterproductive curiosity have been satiated, my stomach twists.

I promised him I wouldn’t leave him on read. The picture was definitely worth it, but now I have to text him. And I know it’s a terrible idea.

* * *

Shane:

You must like other movies.

Nevaeh:

I do, I swear. But this one is my absolute favorite.#MartyAndDoc4E

Shane:

What minute are you on? #MovieNight

I grin too much,way too much. Then I press pause and type that I’m on minute seventy-six. The movie is almost over, but I hope he doesn’t mind and he’ll join anyway.

Okay, give me a minute.

I bring the phone to my chest and groan. How can I feel so happy? I shouldn’t. I should be obsessing over Alex’s texts. But, God, I’m not. Shane takes over my brain completely.

It doesn’t make the fact that we’ve been texting for over twenty minutes now less of a bad idea. Yet I can’t stop. It’s the only thing that keeps me floating above the water. If I stop tonight, I’ll drown.

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