Page 233 of Ominous: Part 1
“Goodnight, honey.”
I mutter a low, “Goodnight,” and as soon as Mom walks out and closes my door behind her, I grab my phone from my nightstand, flicking off my lamp as I do, shoving my notebook free from the covers and to the ground as I lie on my side. It’s all bullshit anyway. Stuff I made up inside my mind. It’s worthless.
Eli has texted me three times. If it had been anything less, it wouldn’t drown out Mom’s words in my head.“You have plans, Eden, don’t ruin them for a boy.”
But he did. And his words wash everything else away. I forget why I was mad at him. Why I cared he slapped my face. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does for now, except him.
Eli: I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Him: I was nervous because you could probably send me to prison now, and after I told you, and what you told me… I’m sorry.
Him: Text me back, Nightmare Girl.
Smiling, silencing Mom’s words, I reply an hour after his last text.
Me: You don’t trust me?
It takes two minutes for his response, and I stare at my screen the entire time, hoping he hasn’t pulled another impossible feat and fallen asleep.
But the three dots pop up and my breath hitches, even as thoughts of washing my face and changing my pad prick at the back of my mind.
Him: I trust you when you love me, not when you’re angry with me.
My heart jolts at the L word, despite the fact I’ve thought it too. It feels like a thing with a future, or something that’ll hurt more without one.
I ignore it.
Me: Which means you don’t trust me.
Him: We’re not mad, are we?
I smile, grateful we’ve passed over “love,” and yet yearning to retrace my steps. Go back to it just for a second to clarify. Bittersweet, that’s how it feels glossing over it.
But I don’t bring it up again.
Me: I think I’m mad for you.My finger hovers over the send button. It’s silly, childish, beneath him. Something I might write in a book some day or read inside one.
I send it anyway.
I’m not mad at him. I am confused by him, and sometimes, I don’t understand him.
Except, maybe, I understand him perfectly. I just wish him to be something else sometimes because it would be easier on my heart. For all of our intensity when we’re together, the day we let go, my world will feel like it’s burning down around me.
But that day is not today.
He takes so long to reply, my screen goes dim. My stomach twists into knots, and I begin rethinking what I said. It was too much, too lame, too… soft.
But he said “love.” He said that word first. And when the text comes through, my phone brightening up again, my mood switches like a flip of the lights.
I’m grateful I said it.
Him: I have been mad for you since I first saw you staring at my hands in class.
My face flushes warm and I’m grateful I didn’t take any more pills this evening, as I sometimes do to help calm myself enough to sleep. Right now, I want the constant thrum of my pulse, the skipped beats of my heart. The way my entire body is hot, and I start to sweat even beneath the fan.
Me: Don’t lie to me.I bite my tongue to stifle my laughter even as I send the message.
Him: I would never. I watched you too, you know. I wish you were here.
