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Throat thick, all I can do is nod.
It’s funny. Not even a whole year ago, I was the one hanging onto every little crumb of hope I could find with a death grip, while unbeknownst to me, my best friend had all but given up completely.
Yet here we are.
Leaving them to their coffee, I round the steps and head for my bag in the living room. My gaze catches on the thin blue blanket rumpled on the couch, and my steps falter.
“Promise me…”
I press a hand to my chest.
“Promise me you’ll come home.”
“I promise.”
I exhale shakily, my lip ticking up, as it hits me. Barrels over me. Why he sent me that pic…
In three quick strides, I approach the couch, and pull out my phone. Bringing up Snapchat, I lift the phone, and aim the camera at the rumpled blanket.Click.
I eye the screen, debating if I should type out a message with it.
Thank you?
Inhaling through my nose, I give my head a little shake, and hit send.
That’s not what this is about. Not at all.
He’ll understand.
If he opens it…
I stare and I stare as seconds pass.
Waiting…
For what, I’m not sure. It’s not like I expect him to respond.
I guess I just want a sign?
Something to assure me not all hope is lost…
That our friendship can be salvaged.
That we’re not fucked beyond repair.
“Come on,” I mutter, staring at the screen. It dims, and I hit it, keeping it from locking. “Come on, JJ. Don’t give up on me. Not yet. I’ll fix this, I swear I’ll fix this.”
Movement—swift and subtle.
I blink, ensuring I’m not just seeing what I want to see, as minor as it is.
The icon next to his name, colored in a second ago, is hollow.
He opened it.
A rush of air leaves me, and I tip my head back, saying a silent thanks to the universe.
It’s not much, and it’s no guarantee this means anything going forward. He wants space. He’s made that clear. And he’s going to get it, even if it kills me.
