6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
Roman
The first two days after the app went live, I was asleep about eighty percent of the time.
I had the other incompetent idiots in the security wing watching the cameras because I was completely dead.
I was exhausted from all the late nights and early mornings working on the stupid app.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself, that it had nothing to do with spending every second I possibly could with Lance.
When I woke up on the third day, I was ready to get back to work.
Which was all great and wonderful, except I was used to having Lance in my space, and it felt unnaturally quiet with no one to complain to.
On the fourth day, I was tired of turning around to talk to him only to find an empty room behind me.
I had to force myself to go to the coffee shop just to get out of the apartment.
Today? Today I’m feeling more pathetic than ever.
At what point did having Lance in my space become…
Expected? Comfortable? Desired? Having that thought was the absolute final straw.
I downloaded the stupid fucking app and set up a profile.
It’s not like I had to go out and meet with people.
I could just chat with them until I was fine being alone again.
It shouldn’t take me long to remember exactly why I hated interacting with other people.
I took my time putting in a picture of myself from the neck down so that no one would recognize me, filling out my bio, and answering all the stupid questions.
By the time I was done with all of that, I was so sick of the whole ordeal that I didn’t even bother looking through my matches.
I just tossed my phone aside so I could have a break from it.
An hour or two later, Devlin stopped by to check in on Salem, so we got to chat for a little while.
He ended up leaving though, and I don’t blame him, because my phone was constantly going off.
As soon as he left, I grabbed it with every intention of turning off the notifications, because the shit was getting obnoxious.
That’s when I noticed that I had twenty-seven, twenty-seven, messages.
A couple of people sent two messages, so there weren’t exactly that many people interested in talking to me, but there were still more than I expected. I started scrolling through them, deleting all the messages with images or propositions. Don’t people have any respect for themselves? Jesus.
After combing through all the bullshit, I was left with five measly messages.
For only a couple of hours with a profile, I was still feeling pretty confident in myself.
Three of the remaining messages were lame pick-up lines, so I decided to ignore those for the time-being.
The other two messages were both from people with anonymous names and pictures, just like mine, but one was a boring ‘hey, how are you’, so I gave it a quick reply before getting to the only personalized message out of the entire bunch.
UnderneathItAll:
Why the macaw?
I can’t even lie, it took me far too long to realize what he was talking about.
I glance down at the tattoo on my left side and trace my finger over the black and grey ink.
There are a lot of reasons that I love them, but the main reason is by far the lamest. It’s something that I would never admit to someone if they asked me in person, but it doesn’t really matter if some anonymous person doesn’t like my answer, does it?
Me:
They’re my favorite animals.
They’re intelligent, and they mate for life.
In mere seconds, the person on the other side is typing out a reply. I find myself far too invested in waiting to see whether he’s going to be a dick about my admission or not.
UnderneathItAll:
If only being a human was that simple.
Me:
It kind of is though, isn’t it?
UnderneathItAll:
The fact that I have more dick pictures in my inbox than real messages kind of answers that question on its own, wouldn’t you agree?
I can’t help but chuckle as I lean back on my couch, propping my feet up. Before I reply, I grab the remote and turn a documentary on for background noise. This. This is exactly what I needed.
Me:
Okay.
I’ll give you that.
So, tell me about yourself.
UnderneathItAll:
I honestly don’t know much about myself.
Isn’t that sad?
Me:
Not really.
It’s kind of hard to be who you want here.
What’s your favorite thing to watch?
UnderneathItAll:
Well, someone got me into docu-series recently.
I’ve been alone in my room binging them all week.
Me:
Those are my favorite. Anything related to science, really.
UnderneathItAll:
What are the chances?
What’s your favorite thing to do in your free time?
Me:
Definitely ransacking the coffee shop.
UnderneathItAll:
Well… it’s official.
I think we might be soulmates.
You’re stuck with me now.
I hope you have a ring ready.
I find myself chuckling as I shake my head. This guy is actually pretty entertaining. As I try to think of something witty to reply back, I get up and wander over to my desk. It’s been a whole twenty minutes since—
A knock grabs my attention, and I scramble to flip the cameras over to show who’s on the other side of my door. When I see his crystal blue eyes staring up at me, I reach back and press the button to open the door.
“The fuck do you want, Lance?”
I can’t lie, even though my stupid heart fluttered in excitement as soon as I saw who was outside my door, I’m kind of pissed that he showed up here.
I was just starting to get to the point where I could think about something other than his absence, and then he just decides to pop back into my life whenever it’s convenient for him.
It seems like that’s what he’s always doing, which is going to make it impossible to stop thinking about him.
“Nice to see you too, asshole.” He replies as he walks around the sofa and plops down. I spin around in my chair and glare at him in bewilderment.
“Yeah, sure.” I say sarcastically as I cross my arms over my chest. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
“This has been my home away from home for weeks. Quit being a dick already, would you?” He rolls his eyes as he grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns up the volume.
“No thanks,” I scoff. “Why are you here, Lance?”
He completely ignores my questions and starts his own fucking conversation. “Have you been using the app lately? Seen any bugs or anything yet?” He asks as he leans back and cuddles up with a throw pillow. He’s seriously making himself at home.
“I just made an account earlier today. I haven’t done much of anything with it yet.
Why? Have you noticed something?” I ask as I prop my feet on the edge of my desk.
His eyes follow the movement before he rips them away from me dramatically.
He’s acting really weird and fidgety, more so than normal, and I’m starting to get concerned.
My social skills are subpar at best, so my eyes start tracking every move he makes, trying to figure out if I’m right or not.
“Nah,” he says as he stares at the television with heavy eyes. “Everyone is fucking talking about it, though. I just needed somewhere to go for a little bit where I wouldn’t have to constantly hear about how great it is.”
I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion. I’m kind of confused that he isn’t eager to take all the credit for coming up with the idea, or that he’s even remotely bothered by people singing praise about something that he was the mastermind behind. There has to be another reason it’s bothering him.
“You don’t like it? I thought it’s what you wanted.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. The app is perfect. I just don’t like the way people are using it. I’ve had my account for two days and only have one person that’s even worth talking to. How is that even possible?“ He clutches the pillow to his chest as he sits up and stares at me.
Now that I’m getting a good look at him, it’s easy to see how exhausted he is.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is a mess.
I’m almost willing to bet that he hasn’t been sleeping again.
I almost feel a little bad for him. I can’t imagine having to deal with reliving my past every night.
I’d probably try to lose myself in other people too.
“I can’t be that bad, can I?“ He whispers, vulnerability bleeding into his words like they’re open wounds.
The genuine pain in his words slice through me deeper than any knife every could.
They dig into my flesh, leaving behind paper thin cuts that sting more and more as the seconds tick by.
The air in the room is charged, and it feels like one wrong word from my mouth could create a spark that ignites everything.
It’s a delicate balancing act, like walking on a tightrope.
I haven’t figured out exactly what’s bothering Lance, and without knowing, I feel like if I lean too far in any direction he could spiral out of control, sending us both toppling into an abyss.
The thing is, Lance knows how fucking amazing he is, and he wastes no opportunity to tell me about it. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but you couldn’t pay me enough money to convince me that Lance is both magnetic and humble. There’s no fucking way.
“Don’t sit there and act like everyone in this fucking prison doesn’t worship the ground you walk on. You’ve never met a person that doesn’t like you, Lance.“ I roll my eyes before glaring back at him.
“Says a guy who literally hates me. Yeah, totally believable.” He replies as he runs his hand through his hair worriedly. He tilts his head toward the ceiling and lets out a deep breath. Wait… Is that— is he about to cry?
“I don’t hate— It’s not like that Lance.”
“Right,“ he says as he stands up and straightens out his shirt without acknowledging me. “I shouldn’t have come here.”