It’s Alex. The first text from his new number.
My stomach sinks. I open up the message. It’s a picture of his laptop, this weekend’s swim results on the screen.
Alex
Nice silver, Twist.
I shut my eyes, let my forehead drop to my knees. One day. He stayed away from me for one day. I don’t reply.
That nonexistent kiss was … that was everything I’ve needed and everything I need to avoid. My fingers trace my bottom lip, the sound of his swallowed moan echoing in my ear.
Colette taps me on the shoulder, a worried crease between her perfect brows. “What’s up?”
I tilt my phone toward her, to the only text between myselfand Alex’s new number. She frowns, probably thinking something along the lines of:Why did I let you cry into your cereal in my bed all night if he was just going to text you the next day?
“Do I reply?”
“Obviously.”
“You’re only saying that because you want us to get back together.”
“Quite right.”
“I don’t want to lead him on.”
“Just say thank you. Nothing flirty. That way, he knows he still has you if he’s really low, but you’re not giving him hope.”
I squint at Colette suspiciously. I’m not sure if I trust her, given that she is, in my opinion, giving Vincenzo hope even though there is zero chance of her ever dating someone linked to a crime family.
I type out a stiff reply, keeping it firmly out of flirtatious territory.
Ophelia
Thank you.
Alex
You gonna celebrate?
Ophelia
Hopefully with sleep.
Alex
You’ve earned it.
I run my thumb over his name. If I could swap his sick brain with mine, I would. He deserves peace. He deserveslife.
All I’ve thought about since he left is his mom. How he’s watching her slip away. I can’t imagine it—this long, slow acceptance that she probably won’t grow to be very old. I lost my mom, too, but quickly. She was here and then she wasn’t.
I don’t reply to him, even though I feel bad. But the texts givemehope. Maybe one day, when all of this is over and his dad is withering away behind bars, we could be friends.
I almost laugh out loud at my own stupidity. Having to force my feelings for Alex into a friendship-sized mold, to take the love and the anger and the desperation and try to make them something beige and neutral, might be the final straw for my miserable existence.
Luckily, he ends the conversation for me, and I vow to myself that unless I think he’s in real danger, that is the end of it.
The end ofus.
