Until now.
I keep opening her text to send an answer and closing it before I do.
Open. Close. Open. Close.
This is why my sister started calling me Glitch when I was a kid. If I’m not in control, my wires cross and brain fritzes. I lose all chill. Get stupid really fucking fast. Damn Trey for this.
Popping open the text again, I’m so mad my thumbs fly across the screen.
Glitch: I’m going to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until you see God.
I smash the send button, realizing my mistake too late. FUCK!
I sent the message to Ara, not Trey.
Chapter 2
Ara
I was nervous about texting Glitch. Stupid, right? We chat on Discord sometimes, but I don’t know. Having his cell feels… different. More intimate? I don’t know why it feels that way.
Okay. Yes, I do. But I’m not about to admit that I’ve fallen for a guy I barely know, who I’ve never seen, and who has basic conversations with me online. It’s embarrassing. I haven’t said a word about it to Trey, and I sure as shit would never say anything to Carson, but Glitch has been a constant tip-toe area for months.
Coming to him with a broken computer is not how I thought we’d finally meet. I don’t like asking for help. I also don’t like it when things are fucked up. It makes me feel messy and out of control. As an artist, I don’t mind mess on canvas. Hell, I don’t mind chaos on canvas either. But that’s my mental space. My control. I tell the paint where to go. When shit breaks around me and I can’t fix it? That’s next level anxiety.
I stress a lot. When I’m painting, I’m in a calm-zone, but the instant I step back, self-doubt and imposter syndrome creep in. Gaming is my stress reliever. With everything I’ve had going on lately, I’ve barely been online.
And the only other stress reliever I have comes with a rechargeable battery.
I suck at being social. I hate big crowds. I’m an awkward turtle who is obsessed with anime, gaming, and art. God bless Trey for including me on these nights. When he called to say Glitch would work on my computer, relief made me twenty pounds lighter. I’m desperate.
And I’m pissed.
Yes, my computer was kicked. And ever since, it’s gotten worse and worse when I use it.
Walking away from frustration—my broke ass computer—I leave my phone on the kitchen table and head into my bedroom.
While other women my age are clubbing on this fine Friday night, I’m in my bed with noise canceling headphones and a battery boyfriend by my side. Look, I’d love to have a hot guy in here with me, but that requires more effort than I’m willing to give. Dating sites suck, as my last three boyfriends have proven. Bars and clubs are noisy and overpriced and fun for a half a minute. I’m not good at socializing and have no intention of throwing my insecure ass out there to get rejected again.
I wish I could feel pathetic, but I don’t. I’m sick of being burned. Sick of being told I’m not good enough, not skinny enough, not fun enough. I tell that to myself daily. I don’t need it reinforced by another shitty boyfriend.
Glitch not included.
I can’t imagine what he’d be like as a boyfriend. I can’t even imagine would he looks like. But his online personality—God, I hope it’s real—is wonderful. He’s encouraging and funny. He makes me feel… safe. Just having his Discord channel open makes me feel like I have a place to go if I need it. Which is stuuuuupiiiiddd. I know, I know. But have you ever felt a connection with someone and can’t explain how that could be possible? That’s Glitch for me.
And I love his voice. It’s so fucking deep, it gives me goosebumps every time he says something, which isn’t nearly often enough. His laugh tonight made me wet. I’m so glad I live alone. I’d die if someone caught the wet spot I have in my leggings.
Laying back on my pillows, I close my eyes and picture what a night with Glitch would be like. I’m a creative woman, and I’ve spent months painting visions of this man in my head. We talk a lot in my fantasies. And his mouth is as dirty as my mind…
“Heyyy, Kitty.”
My smile nearly splits my face. Meow.
“Did you miss me?”
Yes.
“I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
Same.
“Did you wear this outfit all day?”
Yes.
“Turn around. Let me see you.”
I imagine spinning in a slow, sensual circle where I sway my hips and give him a nice show of every curve I possess. They all belong to him…