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I come up with an easy password that I won't forget so fast.
Basicjohn20.
“You truly hate his name,” Ash notices.
I laugh because Idohate it.
“I can already picture Cora's deception when she finds out about this.”
Ash and I glare at Karma.
“She's not going to find out,” I pronounce through clenched teeth.
If she does, she'll kill us all for being so stupid.
The stress starts increasing as time passes by, and I finish creating the account. Being drunk and nervous is not a good combination. Sometimes the letters are blurry, and I feel like the screen moves around as I type. I've never felt the buttons so soft as I do now, but I try to eliminate that thought that threatens to break my concentration.
“Okay, it's done.” I have an empty account that resembles a blank canvas. “We need to edit this to make it seem a little more realistic. I need to find a good photo.”
I open a new window, and I freeze. All of my ideas go away, and I don't know where to begin with.
“Put 'sexy girls',” Karma suggests.
A frown appears on my forehead; I’m confused and skeptical that she said that. Ash does the same. Neither of us can believe that she suggested that. I make a mental note that the alcohol hit her harder than it hit me.
“I'll put 'Tumblr girls.”
I navigate in the infinity of photos of girls that look unrealistic and perfect to be true. I find one that looks more normal, a girl with a baseball cap covering half of her face. It's the most natural one that I could find, and I choose to make it the profile picture.
“Edit the bio,” Ash orders. “Your age and put a catchy phrase.”
I do as I was told and fill in the blanks. I send a couple of friend requests, follow some people, and make sure to write a message that says: “New account. The other one got deleted”. I doubt that it's going to make a difference, but there's no wrong in trying.
“Perfect.”
“Now, add him.” They cheer me on.
I find him quickly, and my heart starts beating fast. I'm anxious and worried that it's going to be a mess, but I do it anyway. It's just a fake account.Nothing can go wrong, I repeat in my mind, trying to convince myself of that.
“Send him a message.” Ash pushes me slightly.
My throat closes with anxiety.
“Guys, I don't know about this,” I mumble, feeling the confidence lower. I'm no longer high with adrenaline. Instead, I'm trying not to puke all over my laptop.
“Closure, Bree,” Ash reminds me in a sweeter tone.
I swallow, nodding.
Ineedthis.
This is my only chance of letting him go, of being able to rip him from my chest—or my underwear— and finally, say goodbye to all of my crazy fantasies that I've made up during the lonely nights. I'm striving to be free from everything that involves him.
John Carter can't be a part of my life. Not anymore.
I grab the bottle again, chugging down the clear liquid. I dry heave with the awful aftertaste that fills my mouth, but I feel more sure about this.
Tonight is the night that I'm burying him away from my brain,I think, as my fingers start to type, driven by the drunken mind that took control over me.
