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RecklessDream: “Really? I liked Huck Finn but I’ve never heard anyone say it was their favorite.”
Scarred: “What? An entire generation said it was their favorite and declared it was a classic.”
RecklessDream: “Touché.”
Scarred: “You’re not getting away that easily.”
RecklessDream: “Who me?”
Scarred: “What’s your favorite book?”
RecklessDream: “Dandelion Wine.”
Scarred: “And I’m the weirdo for liking Huck Finn.”
RecklessDream: “It’s like distilled happiness. Family and summer and sunshine condensed into a couple hundred pages.”
Scarred: “I’ll have to check it out.”
RecklessDream: “You’re making fun of me and you’ve never read it?”
Scarred: “If I promise to read Dandelion Wine, you have to promise to do something for me.”
RecklessDream: “Depends…”
Scarred: “Give me your name.”
RecklessDream: “You can call me Dandelion.”
Scarred: “Fine then, until I know your real name, you can call me Huck.”
RecklessDream: “Deal.”
We talked for a few more minutes about nothing; it was nice to talk about nothing. My months had been filled with drama and tragedy, so it was refreshing to talk about simple, silly things. Once we ended the conversation, I changed my alias on the website to Dandelion permanently. I noticed that Scarred also changed his handle, to Huck.
It was times like these that I wished I still had my best friend. Sure, I wanted my best friend for the rough times. It would have been nice to have someone to hold me while I cried. Honestly, though, what I really wanted was someone to talk to about boys and to scream hysterically with over silly things.
Effie Betancourt had been that person. I could tell her the most inane, silly thing and she would get just as excited as I did. Found a nail polish named “Rachel Green”? She would freak out too and demand we cancel everything to give each other pedicures, no matter how hideous the color.
Now, after talking to Huck on Secrets, I wanted Effie back. I wanted someone to be excited with. For the first time in months I was excited about something, and the only person I had was Raskol.
“And you’re a dog,” I said. He cocked his head slightly at my words. I smiled, picking him up. “You’re a great dog, Raskol, but sometimes I wonder if you even understand me.” Raskol jumped off and ran to pick up his toy, a look of triumph on his face.
“See, Raskolnikov, this is what I’m talking about. There is a fundamental problem in our communication. We really need to see someone about this.” I grabbed the rope out of his mouth and threw it across the room. He ran so fast he tripped over his paws and face planted into the carpet. That didn’t stop him though; he quickly recovered and grabbed the rope, returning to his bed. Raskol wasn’t one for fetch. He liked me to throw it once, then he took it to his bed and proceeded to chew on it. This would last for hours.
I sighed, leaning back into the couch. Effie was a horrid friend. She had left me when I needed her most. So why did I miss her? I should have been saying good riddance. Instead I held my phone and stared at her number. I still remembered it by heart and had dialed it into my keypad. If I pressed enter, what would she do?
Would she apologize?
Probably not.
Would she ignore me?
Probably.
Why couldn’t I just ignore her like she ignored me? She had thrown away ten years of friendship. Why couldn’t I do the same? Sighing, I pulled out my computer. At least I was getting better at avoiding that ever-expanding pit of despair in my stomach.
“You want it. Take it.” I fought him. I fought the sock in my mouth. I fought his big, slightly overweight frame. It was useless and futile, but I fought him. He had me tied down and gagged. I was like a stuck pig. “I saw the images you were looking at. Isn’t this what you want? To be fucked like some whore? I’ll fuck you.”
