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That’s it.
A random number with a one-word introduction.
Creepy.
Hey.
I answer and watch the three dots appear across my screen. Only for them to disappear and then reappear again moments later...
Nothing.
“Is that the hockey guy?” Anna side-eyes me with too much hopeful meaning in her tone.
“There is no hockey guy.” I glare at her side-eye, and I hate that everyone is talking about this unhinged hockey player who tore Nathan’s face off in my honor. What kind of fucked-up rumor is that?
Okay, it’s a fantastic rumor, and if the future Mr. Atlas Ortega isn’t that obsessed with me, then I don’t want it.
Nathan had it coming, and if someone did it because of how he treated me, then I’ll call it romantic instead of unsettling.
This is Simon. From Criminology.I just wanted to make sure you got home okay last night. I hated letting you walk home alone in the dark.
Yeahhhh. Me, too, buddy.
His image blurs again with that of my attacker’s, and I shake it off. It wasn’t the same person. Simon didn’t attack me. But my mind is betraying me, which hurts even more than the memories. With raw pain, I swallow slowly, and flashes of a gun flicker through my mind. A slow breath meets my lungs, and I try not to think about it. I’m alive; that’s all that matters. I tell myself that over and over again as my fingers compose a new message.
It’s fine. It was a good night for a walk.
Jesus, what is wrong with me? Lying is one thing, but I don’t have to oversell the mugging like it was a walk in the park.
I don’t want to beg, but my roommate is having that party tonight at our place...
Dot. Dot. Dot. My attention narrows to those three little marks at the end.
Come out with me for a bit. We don’t even have to stay at the party if you don’t want to.
My eyebrows are so high, I notice Anna watching my every facial expression with feral excitement. I hold the phone for a long moment, and too many things slam through my head. What if I’m mugged two nights in a row?
Not likely.
I mean, aren’t there statistics that say you’re more likely to die by coconut to the head than getting mugged twice in a row? I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere. Unless I’ve been fed false coconut information...
What was it that piece of shit said again? “You pissed off the wrong people.”?
I won’t get attacked if I don’t leave the house. If I’m quiet and don’t cause trouble, nothing bad will ever happen to me. Again.
I’m sure the little old ladies who stayed inside knitting all day thought that too. But they always end up here. Dead and stiff.
Except shit like last night only proves that it’s a huge risk. I can’t live my life hiding away in the basement of a morgue because I’m terrified my father will do the same thing to me that he did to my mother.
Why does the decision feel like a double-edged sword?
“Want to go to a party with me tonight?” I ask out loud, forcing Anna to make the decision for me.
An animalistic sound squeaks out of her small body instantly, and for a second, I fear she’s going to keel over in pain. But then she jumps up and down, emanating noises, and I swear I’ve never seen her this excited. Like, she’s always happy, but this is next-level, we’re going to Disneyland happiness right now.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I whisper as she continues to make squeals and strange happy dances around me and the dead body. Poor hit-and-run guy. If his ghost is over our shoulder sneering at our lack of decorum, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’ll have to put in a complaint with management. Maybe haunt us for a few days in revenge. Whichever works faster in the ghost world, I guess.
Okay.
