I’m sorry. I love you.
And you believe it. The first time. Then, the second. Third, fourth, fifth. By the fiftieth, you wonder how you still convince yourself. But you do.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I’m sorry. I love you.
It’s okay. I love you, too, you say without depth.
Lies and lies and more fucking lies.
Waking up is as hard as falling asleep. Because I know my nightmares aren’t real.
Rolling over to see the time on my phone, I can already tell it’s well into morning by the sunlight streaming through the transom windows. It’s why I picked this room to sleep in; it feels safer knowing nobody could stand outside and peer in. Not unless they’re twelve feet tall. I’d have bigger issues if a twelve-foot man showed up.
I guess I am in Bigfoot territory, now, though. I’d take him over a man, at this point.
There are several text notifications waiting for me. If it was my old phone, I’d be surprised that there are so few. This isn’t my old phone. This is a new one. For the new version of me. For Lou. Not Louisa. She left her old phone so it couldn’t be tracked.
Lou has to be smarter than Louisa ever was.
There are two from Jules checking in on me. I slept late.
Me:
I’m good. Just woke up. Grandma Irma has a comfortable bed.
Juliet:
Glad you got some rest. Plans for the day?
Me:
My plans include the couch and the extensive DVD collection.
Juliet:
You have fun with that, but be warned, Irma never knew a love story that she didn’t love.
Me:
Ewww, love.
Juliet:
Exactly.
Me:
Thanks again, Jules. For everything.
Juliet:
Anything you need. Anytime.
