Tilly.
Oh hell no.
That conclusion is not good, and I am aware how not good it is.
I lie down and stare at my ceiling, and I’m convinced I can see all our memories play on it, except not the way I remember them.
For instance, that time when all of us went to volunteer at the camp we met last year, and instead of remembering how we laughed at one child that reminded Yana of Matt when he was younger, I remember how Tilly played with him.
Or that one time we went for ice cream, all I can think of is the happy jumps she did when she found out they had her favorite flavor.
It’s like I’m suddenly coming to my senses. Suddenly, my mind finally catches on to what I was actually focusing on.
I don’t know what is happening.
I feel dazed, almost as if I were drunk. My vision is hazy, and I don’t feel myself.
I reread the message once.
Twice.
I hit send before I can stop myself and possibly trap myself again.
I try to feel regret, but for the first time in days, I feel lighter.
I set the phone down, lie back down, and drift off into a proper nap, but I am horrified about all of this.
It’s probably not even real.
I’m probably overreacting.
How could thisbereal?
It doesn’t feel real because I am not used to whatever is affecting me. My mind feels against me, but my heart warms at my thoughts, and something weird spreads in my stomach, but it feels nice.
When I wake up, the sun is low, and my room is painted a deep orange hue.
I get up and grab my phone.
Matt probably hasn’t checked his phone yet, but I check my messages.
The message is opened. Blue ticks.
But not by Matt.
I feel faint when the name on the top of my screen shows Tilly.
Pathetic Tilly.
It was your mom’s birthday today.
It’s a miracle you remembered, but how is she supposed to know?
You. Never. Called.
Just because they never call for you doesn’t mean you shouldn’t call them.
That just makes you as bad as them.
