Page 14 of Toxic B!tch
I pick up the phone, typing out a quick text.
Me: Hey, is now a good time to call?
Her response comes almost immediately.
Indigo: Duh.
My fingers hover over the screen, my heart pounding in my chest like a hummingbird’s wings. I’m not nervous about what she’ll say, exactly—it’s more about what this means. We’ve been texting for weeks and hearing her voice feels like crossing a line we can’t uncross.
But I can’t back out now. I stare at her name, my thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary before I finally press it.
It rings twice before she answers.
“Hey.” Her voice is raspy, with a slightly higher pitch at the end of the word. The sound of it hits me harder than I expected, stirring something deep inside me.
“Hi,” I say, my voice softer than I intended, like I’m trying not to spook her—or maybe myself.
She laughs, the sound rich and playful, and it goes straight to my gut. “Well, you don’t sound ninety or female.”
I join in her laughter, the nerves easing out of me just a bit. “Definitely male. And when I said thirty-three, I was serious.”
“Good to know. So…” Her voice drops a little, almost sultry. “Does my voice live up to the hype?”
“The hype?” I ask, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You said you wanted to hear my voice, so I wanted to know if it was everything you thought it would be.” She’s teasing me, and damn, she’s good at it.
I pause, taking a breath before answering. “Sure is. You sound as sweet as your texts usually are.”
“Sweet?” She gasps, sounding mock-offended. “I’ll have to work harder to show you my dark side.”
I chuckle. “You want a pet raccoon. I think I already know plenty about your dark side.”
She snorts, and the sound is so unguarded, so real, that it makes me feel like I’ve known her forever. “Touché.”
There’s a moment of silence, but it’s comfortable—like we’re both just sitting with each other, letting the sound of our breathing fill the gap. I find myself imagining what she’s doing right now. Is she lying on her bed? Pacing around her living room? My mind spins with the possibilities, but I don’t ask. Not yet.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she says suddenly, her voice softer now, more vulnerable.
My heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “I mean, it’s weird, right? We’ve never met, and I feel like I… I don’t know, I feel like I know you. Like really know you.”
Her words stir something deep in me. I feel the same way, but hearing her say it makes it more real in a way. Clenching the phone a little tighter, I attempt to maintain a steady voice. “I feel the same way.”
There’s a pause, and then she speaks again, her tone more guarded. “But you know, I’m a little… well, I’m not exactly normal.”
I smile, even though she can’t see it. “Who is?”
She huffs out a breath. “No, I mean, I don’t have a lot of friends. I can get pretty intense, and not many can handle that.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, staring out the window as the last traces of daylight fade. “Indigo, I think I can handle you.”
Her laugh is quieter this time, almost shy. “You think?”
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. There’s something about her that feels wild, unpredictable—but in a way that draws me in, not scares me off.
“Well, you might regret saying that one day,” she murmurs, her voice dipping lower, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “I’m a handful.”
