What time is it where you are?
11 p.m.
Late
Not really
I don’t sleep a lot
What does that mean
I chew harder at the inside of my cheek. I’d feel silly hiding such a small detail after what he shared—sort of like I’d lost the sharing game.
I have “““insomnia”””
Supposedly
Ah.
So many quotes.
I’ve never been like diagnosed and also
It’s probably my fault
Probably isn’t.
I start to send off something sarcastic, but then another message appears on my screen.
Have you been worried?
About me.
I know what he means. Worried he’ll expose me. Worried he could crush my life beneath his sleek racing Pumas. I pick at my nails, recently repainted with a jelly teal.
Vulnerability is just so… uncomfortable.
A little.
Faust’s reply comes instantly.
Don’t.
Oh ok, if you say so!!!
I mean it
I’m not going to hurt you
Trust me.
Does “trust me” work on anyone? Or am I just spectacularly broken? I turn over in bed, unsure of what to say, staring at those last two words. Understanding the logic behind Faust’s anger is one thing. Connecting beyond our shared enemy is another.
I guess we should discuss our evil plan then right
Maybe you can tell me how you want to help
You don’t have any ideas?
