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Me: Wrong number.
Unknown: I know who I am speaking to and I do not like you out late. It’s not safe.
Me: Look, I don’t know who you think you’re talking WITH but it’s the wrong person. Also, you sound like a dick.
There. Point made. Plugging my phone into the charger, I move about my room getting ready for bed. I really want a shower but sleep takes priority. With my face washed and teeth brushed, I pad over to my bed and snuggle under the covers. Before closing my eyes, I notice a green light flashing on my phone. A message. Perhaps an apology? One can hope.
Unknown: Sophia, no need to be so aggressive.
My heart drops like a brick. My eyes jump from wall to wall of my dark room as if answers to my unspoken questions will be obvious. This wasn’t a text for someone else. It was for me. With a few taps, I implement a girl’s best friend on a smart phone. The block feature. Effectively blocking the number, I place it back on the stand and curl onto my side, my knees to chest and the blanket up to my nose and count my breaths in an effort to calm my racing heart and fall into a slumber.
Chapter 5
Sophia
Each time my phone vibrates, a pit forms in my stomach. I thought blocking the first number weeks ago would be the end of things. In the light of day, I realized while in my circle of friends I’m the only Sophia; it’s not an uncommon name. My mind told me it was a simple wrong number. I blocked the number and all would be well.
It hasn’t been. Instead, my phone buzzes every few hours with texts. Each number is unknown and blocked as soon as the message appears. Classes have kept me busy throughout the day, allowing me to slip into crowds as I scurry from one building to the next. My friends love how available I have been for coffees and meals. If anyone has made a comment on my sudden availability, I’ve shrugged it off with the impending end to our college life.
Morgan can tell something is bothering me but she hasn’t pushed. Her appearance at my door each morning to check in before starting our days leaves me feeling guilty. Guilt for not confiding in her. Guilt for using my friends as shields from a creep instead of being with them solely because I love them.
Thankfully, the opening night ofMama Mia!is quickly approaching and the theater is bustling into the late hours. Colin doesn’t say anything when I ignore my phone or when I stick to his side like glue as we walk to his car. As much as I’ve hoped the messages would stop, I am smart enough to know they won’t.
The thought of changing my phone number is frustrating. I’ve had this number since I received my first phone for my thirteenth birthday. It may be selfish and a little ridiculous to hesitate with the change. But it feels like just considering the switch feels like I’m giving this guy some sort of reward for being a jerk.
I’m supposed to be studying and yet I have stared at the screen of my laptop for an hour. Searching the internet for how to handle situations like this has not been good for my mental health.Fear. Danger. Stalking. Orders of Protection.Regardless of what I search, those words appear. My phone buzzes and I close my eyes, exhaling and gripping my hands into fists.
Unknown: I can’t wait to see the sets. You’re so talented.
Unknown: You should wear your purple sweater. It compliments your coloring beautifully. Too much black makes me wonder if you’re sad, Sophia.
Closing the lid to my laptop, I toss it to the side of my bed and rise, taking my phone with me. In just a few steps, I’m in front of Morgan’s open door and knock. When she doesn’t answer right away, I notice how she’s bouncing her head from side to side. Earbuds.
Cautiously, I move into the room, side stepping the piles of clothes on the floor. My bestie is a lot of things but tidy she is not. Thankfully, she keeps her mess to her room and not shared spaces. My movements must catch her eye because she pulls off the earbuds and offers me a smile.
“Don’t even complain about my organization.”
A giggle bubbles out of me, a sound that has been missing the last few weeks. “Organization? I think you mean chaos.”
“We’ll agree to disagree. What’s up? Need some candy?”
Morgan has a sweet tooth like nobody I’ve ever met. On her bed sits an assortment of candies and I know there are more in her side table. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and ask, “Can I sit for a minute?”
Her teasing smile falls and she pushes everything aside, patting the now empty spot. Facing her, my legs crisscrossed, I hand her my phone. Brows furrowed, she takes the device and looks at it and then back at me. Morgan knows my passcode just as I know hers. We watch a lot of true crime and half the time the cops can’t get into a phone because of passcodes. We have all of each other’s login information for “just in case” purposes. I guess this is one of those moments.
I watch as her eyes read the message. Once and then twice. It won’t change.
“What is this, Soph?”
“A creepy text?” I say more as a question than statement of fact.
With an eye roll, she scrolls through the list of messages. She won’t find anything. They’re all blocked and deleted. In retrospect, maybe I should have taken a screen shot. Hindsight.
“I’ve been getting random texts from unknown numbers. I only responded once because I thought it was just a wrong number but then the person replied, saying my name and it freaked me out. So, I’ve been blocking them.”
“Them? How many have there been besides the one I saw after the flowers?” Morgan’s voice is frantic. Whether it’s frustration or fear, I’m not sure.
I shrug. “I haven’t kept track.”
