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Sitting up on the bed, I pull down on the skin on either side of my cheeks, blinking my swollen eyes a few times to help them re-open. I hadn’t realized they’d been closed for hours, all in an attempt to stop staring at the clock.
I reach over to my phone on my nightstand, turning off my music before falling right back onto the bed, this time, nose-diving straight into another deep, dark place—social media.
The best thing about having a chronically offline ex is that you can’t stalk them.
God. Am I already calling him that?
Ex.
I exhale deeply, but not before I stumble across Crawfield’s social media page. I couldn’t bear to log out of the account.
Why?
Because although Warren never allowed me to post him directly on the page, that didn’t stop me from saving what must be over 50 posts of him in my drafts.
I never would’ve shared them…especially not after what happened. But now, as I torture myself by looking through them, I can’t help but choke back some tears.
Nothing hurts more than seeing that smile on his face—looking into those eyes—remembering how those lips felt against my own.
I once thought nothing could be more pure than being someone’s happiness, but now I know that’s not the case. Because nothing is more pure than someone else being your happiness, and believing that it will last forever.
“Delaney, I told you not to film me!”
Warren playfully backed away from behind his desk, reaching to snatch the camera out of my hand in a video that plays on a loop.
“You said not to film you on the field,”I remarked, giggling at his attempts to rip the camera out of my grasp.“Baby, you look so cute when you’re working.”
I hear him scoff between his own laughter.“Please don’t call me cute again.”
“Why not?”I pestered, yet he continued to reach for the phone, somehow managing to wrap me up in his embrace in the process. The camera didn’t need to pick that up for me to remind myself.“I want to remember this picture of you, Warren!”
All at once, the camera fumbled out of my hands and fell straight to the floor, capturing the exact moment when Warren wrapped his arms around my waist, nestled his forehead against mine, and leaned in to hover over my lips.
“How about instead…”I heard him start to whisper.“You take a mental image of what I’m about to do to you?—”
I lock my phone screen, slamming it into my chest.
I take back what I said earlier. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he had social media—stalking simple images of him would’ve been much less painful than re-living these memories all over again.
I pull my phone back up, refusing to look at the page as I swipe away, already diverting my attention back onto my playlist. I need to go into myReputationera—no moreRed.
My thumb gravitates towards my next playlist before my comeback era is cut short by an incoming call, causing my heart to skip a beat as I sit up straight in bed.
As pathetic and cliche as it sounds, in that moment, I dare to hope.
I dare to hope that it’s Warren. Calling to apologize, to talk, to say he misses me.
And then my heart sinks like a stone.
I let out a dramatic groan as “Mr. Cunningham” appears at the top of my screen, forcing me to either stare at it until the ringing ends or decline it and let him know I’m trying to ignore him.
Why the hell does he keep calling me?
Curiosity overtakes my annoyance as I finally answer the call, putting the phone on speaker.
“Hello?” My voice is as dry as it is somber.
“Delaney.” There’s an urgency in the way Mr. Cunningham speaks, one I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. “I’m going to need you to come down to the office as soon as possible, please.”
