Chapter Twenty Three #3
I’m led through the building, handed my phone and charger, and eased into the back of a police car for the second time this morning.
Once belted, I power on my phone with the little battery it’s got, and my heart sinks.
I’d expected a long line of messages from Thiago, orders to report back before he hunts me down digitally.
There’s nothing on his end. Although, there is a hell of a lot from mine, timestamped all through the night.
I cringe, waiting until I’m deposited back in my room before slipping on my headphones and sinking into my bed fully dressed.
My thumb hovers over the first voice note of many, my stomach twisting from nerves and lack of food.
I don’t even recall taking my phone out, let alone recording myself.
For a second, I consider deleting them all without listening, but ignorance isn’t going to help me bridge the gaps, so I press play.
There’s a rustle first, distant music in the background and my own breath heaving too loud against the mic.
“Thiagooo,” I sing, drawing his name out in a way that makes heat crawl up my neck even now.
I sound fucking wasted. “This party is everything I’ve been missing in my life!
” A round of grunts and scuffs follow as if I’m dancing down the road.
I squeeze my eyes shut as Drunk Me continues, words slightly slurred but still coherent.
“I just wanted to say, you’re like…the best. Do you know that?
Like, elite-tier, best friend material. Platinum level.
Premium subscription.” There’s a giggle.
“I don’t say that enough. You’re always there.
Always watching. Kinda creepy, but in a comforting way.
Just the bestest of best friends a friend ever friended. You know?”
In the safety of my bed, I physically recoil. Apparently alcohol acts as a weapon of self-sabotage for me. I play the next voice note. Laughter filters through the speaker, followed by the bass thudding in the distance.
“You care about me more than anyone. Isn’t that stupid?
You barely know me. I’ve had friends for years who don’t give a fuck.
My own twin sister, she’s busy with living the life she has because of me.
The life I suffered for. I don’t even know if she’s happy but she better be.
I-I-” There’s a heavy sigh, and we cut to the next one.
“Anyways. We’re talking about you. Are you okay? Like seriously. You’re like, obsessed with me. Isn’t there anything else fulfilling in your life—”
I cut off the voice notes there. No fucking wonder he hasn’t messaged me. That round of messages are stamped around midnight. Skipping ahead to one twenty am, I hope I’ve sobered up some. No chance.
“Thi. I’m so tired of being the girl who survived,” I groan.
My words are slower now, no longer upbeat, but frayed with anguish.
“Like that’s my whole personality. Survivor.
Trauma girl. Reject. Don’t push her too hard, she might crack.
” There’s a pause, long enough that I almost think it cut off.
“Everest doesn’t look at me like that,” I admit quietly.
“He looks at me like I’m… a challenge, or a weapon, or something that could burn him if he’s not careful. He doesn’t treat me like I’m broken.”
My throat goes dry. Taking a moment, I smack my forehead with the phone. Idiot, idiot, idiot. You’ve singlehandedly ruined the one good thing left in your life. I skip ahead, noting that the background noise has gone now. I’m somewhere indoors, presumably in my room.
“Thiago,” I practically whimper, sounding fragile in a way I don’t recognize. “I think I messed up. Like, I’ve really fucked up. I thought it would feel empowering,” I whisper. “It just feels… hollow. I don’t know why I did it.”
Tossing my phone down, I rip the headphones out of my ears like they’ve burned me. The room is silent except for my own ragged breathing, my chest aching as if it’s been caved in. Oh god, what did I do? What have I confessed to the man I’ve effectively friend-zoned a few hours prior?
With trembling thumbs, I try to write out a reply, an apology, anything, but it’s not like Thiago has responded to anything else.
He’s not likely to answer me now, or ever again.
Selfishly, I want to call him, to cry down the phone that I’m scared, I’m confused and I’m sorry.
Instead, I cry silently to myself, adopting the fetal position amongst my covers.
Why am I even like this? I keep chasing people who might hurt me and pushing away the one person who never would.
A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me, thick and suffocating.
Laura is missing. Harrison might be back.
And somehow, in the middle of all of that, I’ve managed to fracture the one relationship in my life that has never been conditional.
Thiago means more to me than I can explain, far more than those voice notes describe.
Why couldn’t I have told him that instead?
I press my palms into my eyes until stars burst behind them. I was desperate to go out last night to prove something, to feel something. Well, now I feel everything.