The feeling has been hitting me for a week or so now, like an itch I can’t quite reach.
I scroll past the next few messages.
Leah: You can’t just ignore me forever.
Leah: What happened wasn’t entirely my fault.
I let out a laugh. “Right.”
The memory flashes in my mind, the betrayal and the fallout that followed. I haven’t spoken to her since the last message when I told her I’d need to think about speaking to her again. I just wasn’t ready, and now with everything that’s about to unfold, I’m putting her on the back burner yet again.
She deserves it.
Next, a missed call from Mom. This one softens something in my chest, and I smile. I’ll call her back in a few minutes. Because next, my thumb freezes over the next set of notifications.
Skye.
My pulse jumps at the number of messages and calls from her. All were timestamped last night and early this morning. My chest tightens again as I open our message thread.
Skye: We need to talk.
A few minutes later.
Skye: Violet. Answer your phone.
Skye: I know.
I inhale slowly at that message. Of course, she does; she’s not stupid. Then another message.
Skye: Call me.
And another.
Skye: Don’t disappear on me now.
The last message came a few hours ago, before the media interviews, which I heard about at the coffee stand down the street. No anger or accusations, whichsomehow makes me feel even worse. I lean back slightly, resting the phone in my hands.
Everything is changing. My two worlds are finally going to collide. Solace, and the girl who somehow managed to matter more than either identity was ever supposed to.
Skye knows now. Which means the question isn’t ifwe’re going to talk, it’s how bad it’s going to be when we do.
I look back down at the screen, at the messages, and at Skye’s name. My thumb hovers over the call button, and I exhale before tapping the button.
“Alright,” I say, listening to it ring.
And ring.
And ring.
Her voicemail picks up, and I end the call before hearing the introduction. The next time I hear her speak, I want it to be face-to-face. I want to tell her everything she already knows, but needs to hear it from my lips. My confession.
I’ll try her again soon, but first, I’ll call my mom back. Talking to her will hopefully help ease the tension in my chest.
“Violet Rae,” my mom shrieks into my ear, so loud I have to put some distance between myself and the phone. “How could you? How dare you.”
Okay, so we’re skipping the warm-up conversation.
“Mom?” I’m confused by the urgency in her tone. “Are you okay?”
