I type:
Attention span of a goldfish!
I delete.
You scuzzbucket . . .
I delete.
I exhale heavily. God, this is stupid. I sit back, deflated.
I eventually reply.
How was your kiss?
I see the dots as he types.
Incredible. I’ve thought of nothing else since.
I smile softly. Me too.
Well maybe you should ask her out on a date or something?
Maybe . . .
How was your day?
Okay. I worked and then had a PT session. Looking forward to going home for Christmas.
I frown. I already know where his home is but I’ll play along as if I don’t.
Where’s home?
Where I grew up, near my parents.
I smile sadly; it must be hard to live away from everyone. Another message bounces in.
Are you going home for Christmas?
My shoulders slump. I write:
It’s just me and my brother and sister now.
Christmas is a sad time of the year for me.
I’m sorry.
Me too.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, my mother makes me and my brothers wear knitted sweaters with reindeers on them.
I giggle as I imagine the big powerful Miles brothers in knitted Christmas sweaters to please their mum. I type a smiley face.
?
I exhale as I wait for his next message.
Why are you smitten?
Maybe I’m smitten with the idea of being smitten.
Aren’t we all?
He’s so swoony in messages. Too bad he’s an asshole player who loses interest really fucking quickly in real life. I type: Maybe you’ll meet your extraordinary girl over Christmas?
Maybe. Or maybe I’ll spend my life having meaningless sex with people?
I frown and type:
Is that a bad thing?
No.
But what?
I want more.
More of what?
If I knew I would have found it.
I lie down in bed—I should tell him it’s me. He’s starting to tell me personal stuff and he’s going to be pissed if he ever finds out that he’s confiding in me. But for some reason I feel like he’s flat and I want to comfort him.
You’ll know when you meet her.
Will I?
I smile sadly.
Of course you will.
Will you?
I don’t think I even want to love anyone. It hurts too much when you lose them.
Silence for a few minutes. Eventually a reply bounces in.
Who hurt you?
My parents.
How?
They died.
I unexpectedly tear up and I quickly sign off so I can get offline before he replies. I don’t want to get into this; I don’t know why I even brought it up.
I’m tired,