Page 106 of Guarded Love

I remember staring at that message for a full minute before responding.

Me: Just my hands?

Blaise: Among other things.

Me: Elaborate.

Blaise: Not over text. Some things require a…face-to-face conversation.

I scroll down to this morning's messages, and the tension is even more obvious.

Blaise: Good morning. Sleep well?

Me: Define well.

Blaise: More than three hours, no nightmares, woke up in your own bed.

Me: Two out of three. You?

Blaise: Same. What's keeping you up?

And there it was. The opening for honesty that I'd completely dodged.

Me: Just the usual insomnia that I tell everyone is actually me being a night owl. You know how it is.

Blaise: I know how it is when you're avoiding something.

Me: I'm not avoiding anything.

Blaise: Aren't you?

Me: Are you psychoanalyzing me via text now?

Blaise: Would you prefer I do it in person?

Me: That's probably not a good idea.

Blaise: Why not?

Me: You know why.

Blaise: I know what you keep telling yourself. That's different.

Me: Blaise...

Blaise: What are we doing here, Willow?

Me: I don't know what you mean.

Blaise: Yes, you do.

And that's where the conversation had died hours ago. No response from either of us because what was there to say? He was right, and we both knew it. I did know what he meant, and I was avoiding it wholeheartedly.

Instead of dealing with that, I toss my phone down on my bed and walk over to my laptop. Maybe I can get some work done for the Chronicle or at least pretend to be productive while my brain processes everything that's happened today.

The desktop appears and I automatically check my email first and the only thing I find are our campus newsletter and some spam. Then I click over to Discord because why not? I haven’t checked on it in a couple of days and I do have friends that I still game with online.

There's a notification. One new message request.

---