'But you are okay for real?'
'Yeah, I'm good. I gotta get back to work.'
'Alright, I'll see you later.' Setting the phone down on the counter, I watch it for a reply, but this time I get nothing.
It's okay though, I feel better. I know he's at work, I know he's not dead in some ditch, and I know he's calmed down a bit since last night.
Besides, we're not together. He doesn't owe me anything, and has no obligation to tell me where he is or what he's doing. It's just he left and how we ended things that made me question his safety.
Exhaling a long slow breath, a calmness falls over me. It's just good knowing he's fine.
How the hell did I get here? How am I so wrapped up in Ian already?
Standing, I stretch my arms and grab my guitar. The lightness I feel is giving me inspiration. Ian has somehow opened a door inside me, one where my creativity seems to flow.
The second I pick up my guitar, my fingers are all over the frets. Working on my new song, I let myself get lost in the words and the music and the way it all fits together.
Boom!
I hear a car door outside, and then the sound of mumbling voices in the parking lot. Picking up my head, it's already getting dark out. It's almost six o'clock. Time slipped through my fingers today. I spent all day working on my new song.
Kneeling on the couch, I look out the window and see Ian standing outside his brother's truck, and talking to him through the window. I can't hear what they're saying, but both men are smiling. Ian slaps Grey on his shoulder and turns to come inside.
He looks up, causing me to duck out of the way. My heart thuds in my chest as the front door opens, and squeaks shut. Ian's feet are on the steps, echoing as he climbs to our floor.
Will he come see me?
My eyes move to my door, waiting to see what he does. There's a flicker of hope that burns inside. Wishing for him to knock. Wanting to see him.
With my hands in my lap, I fiddle with my fingers nervously.
Shutting the door to his place, I hang my head slightly. Deflating, I'm disappointed that he went straight home. It was silly for me to dream that he'd come see me first, but I can't deny the hope that tickles my skin and causes my heart to speed up.
Holding my phone, I pluck at my bottom lip, debating if I should message him or not. Opening up a new message, I type it, and hover my thumb over the send button.
Give him some time.
Taking in a deep breath, I lay it down on the coffee table. I'm not a stalker, and I don't want to come off as an obsessive fling. Resting back, I cross my arms over my chest and stare at my phone.
What the hell are you doing, Heather? He's not your boyfriend, you're not his girlfriend.
The small voice inside my head is trying to rationalize with me, but there's another voice. The one that wants to see him, that wants to smell him, and touch him, and fuck him as many times as my body will allow.
Pursing my lips, my eyes keep shifting to my phone. I'm trying to ignore him. I'm trying to ignore what my body is telling me it wants. And I just can't anymore.
Picking up my phone, I decide to just send him a simple message. How does dinner sound?
Holding the phone in my hand, I clutch it like it's alive and might jump from my grasp. The screen stays still. There are no text bubbles indicating he's sending something back.
The little check marks next to the message light up purple, telling me he's opened my text. Resting my head in my hand, I sit anxiously, waiting for him to respond. Seconds turn into minutes, and I get nothing.
He saw it, so why isn't he texting back?
Giving him a few more minutes, I finally text him again.
Hey, did you get my message?
I know he got it. I'm just trying to not be too confrontational.
Still nothing.
I'm annoyed now. He's seen both messages and is deciding to ignore me all together. What reason could there be? My eyes are frozen on my screen, and my brain is all over the place, trying to rationalize his choice to ignore me.
I'm about to text him one last time, telling him to forget it, to forget me, to just pretend like neither of us exist. I'm not going to play games. This good guy, bad guy routine isn't going to work for me.
I've got enough on my plate already. I don't need some unstable man-whore who doesn't know what he wants.