Chapter 14
* * *
Emma
The text came six minutes ago—six minutes that stretched into an eternity.
I didn’t open it right away. I just stared at the preview glowing against the dark.
(555) 011-1482: Hey, Emma. It’s me.
I pulled the blanket tighter around my legs, sinking deeper into the couch. Twilight sat frozen on the title screen, its pale glow washing the room in a dim blue haze.
The day had been hell—filled with voices, contradictions, too many feelings to name. I’d tried everything to silence them.
A bath—scalding, endless, steam fogging the mirror as I replayed every word, every lie, every truth.
A snack.
Breathing exercises.
Even yoga.
Nothing helped.
The noise in my head only grew louder—each thought looping back to the same place, the same man.
At some point my fingers ached from holding my phone. From not reaching for him. From wanting to.
And now I had—and I didn’t know what to do. What do you say to the man who broke your trust?
The question sat heavy in my chest as I swiped down, revealing the message thread waiting patiently for me—just as I knew he was, somewhere on the other side.
I typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted.
Every letter that had once come effortlessly now felt foreign—stiff, wrong.
Finally, I wrote the only thing that felt honest.
Me: I’m ready.
I stared at the words until my vision blurred.
Then I hit send. It felt like pulling a trigger.
Self-doubt struck instantly—sharp, cold, and inevitable. Because those two words weren’t simple.
They carried everything I hadn’t said—every ache, every question, every part of me still tethered to him.
More than he knew.
More than I was ready to admit.
His response came fast.
(555) 011-1482: Me, too.
So I pressed play.
The familiar soundtrack swelled through the stillness, low piano notes threading into the air like a second heartbeat.
I’d chosen Twilight for a reason. It was our movie—mine and Candace’s—our comfort when life tilted sideways.
A comfort worn smooth over the years. Tonight, it felt fitting. Poetic, even.
The screen flickered, and my phone buzzed beside me.
(555) 011-1482: Forgot how seriously this movie takes itself in the first five minutes.
A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. Not quite humor. Not devastation either. Just… a pause. A step forward.
Me: Just wait until Edward shows up. Peak brooding.
(555) 011-1482: Prepared accordingly.
I curled deeper into the couch, blanket gathered tight around me, his messages threading through the movie’s rhythm. Each buzz softened something sharp inside me. Each teasing line chipped away at the ache.
And maybe that was okay.
Maybe it was okay to laugh. To let something good touch the edges of all this pain.
Maybe the good didn’t erase the hurt.
Maybe it only proved that something real had survived it—that beneath all the wreckage, something between us was still breathing.
For two hours, I’d almost forgotten.
The lie.
The betrayal.
The hollow ache lodged beneath my ribs.
Even the voices had dulled—no longer a roar, just a low, uneasy vibration at the base of my skull.
(555) 011-1482: Thank you.
I stared at the message, then licked a smear of melted chocolate from my fingers—red M&M shell cracked and forgotten on the blanket.
Me: For what?
(555) 011-1482: For this. For responding. For it all.
Relief and resentment sat side by side in my chest, neither willing to yield. My fingers hovered above the screen, unsure which one to let speak.
The words that came were simple—born of truth and spite.
Me: Don’t thank me. Prove you’re not a piece of shit.
A beat later—
(555) 011-1482: I will.
Me: So what do we do now? And don’t say “take it one step at a time.”
There was a pause, longer than normal. I watched the credits roll across the screen—past the leads and into prop design.
(555) 011-1482: I’m not sure.
I frowned. Read—Damien—had always known what to do. Always guided us. Guided me.
(555) 011-1482: I want to make things right. Do you think we can meet again? Talk things through now that everything’s out in the open?
Heat flared low in my stomach, flooding my veins with something closer to panic than anticipation. The thought of seeing him again made my hair stand on end. My first instinct was a hard no, but that felt too final, too absolute. I’d barely had time to stitch myself together.
My finger traced the edge of the screen, grounding me as the voices battled for dominance.
One screamed Don’t you dare.
The other whispered You already know you will.
And then came a smaller thought.
This time could be different.
There would be no surprises. No more horrific secrets dragged into the light. Just possibility. Fragile, trembling, waiting in the ashes of everything that had burned.
I wrote the message with uncertain fingers.
With a release that felt like stepping off a cliff, I hit send.
Me: Okay.
The reply came fast—too fast.
(555) 011-1482: Do you think tomorrow works? We could have dinner at my place.
My pulse stuttered. Tomorrow.
Too soon, my heart warned.
But then a small mercy surfaced—tomorrow was already claimed. Candace and I had our standing end-of-month Sunday ritual. Nails, lunch, gossip—our usual reset button after weeks of chaos.
Me: I can’t. Tomorrow’s my day with Candace. We have a thing.
(555) 011-1482: Of course. I don’t want to interrupt your plans.
A pause.
Then—
(555) 011-1482: What about Monday? The thought of waiting until next weekend… sucks.
A shaky breath escaped.
Monday.
A weeknight.
Arguably the least romantic night of the week.
A day set aside for business, not dates.
And wasn’t that what this was now? Business between two people trying to start over.
Me: Monday works.
I hit send before I could overthink it. The message landed, small and final, like a heartbeat in the dark.
Across the couch, the movie credits rolled in silver light. The TV flickered, the glow pulsing in rhythm with my own.
Another message arrived.
(555) 011-1482: Thank you for this, Emma. I won’t fuck it up.
A tiny laugh slipped out—half hope, half despair.
Me: You better not.
Silence stretched, still and expectant.
One breath.
One hesitation.
Then—Add to Contacts.
Not ten digits.
Not Read.
Not the lie.
Just his name.
Damien.