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Mabel 8:02 a.m.
I wish that you could
Mabel 8:10 a.m.
No, I wish I could be certain that you might, one day.
But I don’t think I’m built like that.
Mabel 8:12 a.m.
I don’t think you’re built like that. So it’s better this way.
Twenty-SevenReddit Would Have Definitely Come up with a Better Answer
She thought thatmaybeshe would feel better about things the next day.
Like there was a way out of her feelings, if she just focused really hard.
But then she discovered he had texted, asking her if she was okay. At six in the morning, no less—as if he couldn’t even wait until a normal time to find out. He had to do it at the crack of dawn, and in the tenderest possible way she could imagine.Just let me know that you’re all right,the message said.
So it wasn’t a surprise that she burst into tears over it.
Or that she couldn’t quite bring herself to reply.
Because of course she knew if she did that she was going to end up saying something really daft. Something that was apparently always on the tip of her tongue now, no matter how much distance she got from it. She separated herself from him, and let a whole night pass, and only made contact with him via text on a screen. And still, there it was. That urge to tell him how she was feeling.
And yeah, said feeling was less intense now.
It wasn’t a straightOh my god I love you.
But she knew it was dangerous, nonetheless. Maybe even more dangerous, truth be told, because it was so sly and insidious.He wouldn’t be disgusted if you said you were having mild affectionate feelings for him, her brain suggested, in one particularly precarious moment. Then more terribly, it added on the end:It could well be that he has them for you, too.
And the worst part was: she almost felt herself buying into it.
For a second, it really seemed like something that could be the case.
After all, he’d said he enjoyed her company. And that he didn’t find her hideous. And he obviously felt something like desire for her—even if the desire was mostly just his kink and a little less sex than he usually had. So wasn’t it possible that this was enough? That if she saidHey, do you think we could maybe do this for real, he would say yes?
God, she thought. It was.
In fact, it sounded more reasonable than whatever she was doing right now—and so much so that she almost texted it to him. She came literally within a hair’s breadth of tapping out the words, any words, just something that properly explained what she was going through.
But just before she could, another message popped up.
Like a word shield, deflecting the bullet she’d just aimed at her own head.
Maybe we should stop doing this altogether,it said.
And oh god, the sound of mingled pain and relief she let out. Because yes, sure, it was pretty devastating to know for certain that he wasn’t feeling the same things. It made her heart briefly fall out of her body before she could get ahold of herself. But at the same time, it was far and away better than the humiliation she would have felt if she’d confessed, and then gotten an answer like that.
After all, one of those things was simply like swallowing bitter medicine of the sort she was very used to. Horrible, true, but in the end she’d survive. Whereas the other option, well. That was closer to having her heart cut out. And she knew that there was no real way to survive anything of the sort.
It would kill her, unquestionably.
And even though living like this wasn’t great, she did kind of want to keep doing it. So she typed without even thinking about it:
That’s probably for the best.
