"𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁
all it ever says is:
𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦."
- trista mateer, honeybee
when valerie forester heads south to visit her best friend in nashville, the last thing she expects when she departs is an...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
★ ★★
for someone who hated flying, i couldn't seem to get on that plane quickly enough. the notion of being stuck in a flying metal tube tens of thousands of feet above ground didn't even cross my mind. i was just eager to forget about my nashville-native qualms, even if it meant i was walking right back into the vice grip of my michigan misery, starting with my older sister escorting me home.
i was leaving it all on the tarmac. all of it. from layla's disappearance, to meeting a cute stranger, to waking up in said cute stranger's bed and the worst physical state i'd probably ever been in. most importantly, though, the stupid little crush that blossomed somewhere in between, completely in spite of myself—i was leaving it behind. and when i returned in a few months, i'd return to find it irreparably wilted, and i wouldn't care to try and bring it back to life.
no matter what.
because why would i?
i stared out the small window at the airport, knee bouncing absentmindedly. waiting around was killing me. the longer i sat, the tighter my chest felt, and the more my seatbelt felt like a straitjacket.
i tried not to think about it. i knew that if i thought about it, it would only get worse, and the last thing i needed was for it to get worse.
so, instead, i thought about home. i thought about the vast collection of coffee mugs my roommate tegan and i had stockpiled. the corner of the living room dedicated to my record collection and my guitars. tegan's silly boyband posters she'd had since she was fourteen tacked onto the wall, which i always made fun of even though i had the same ones when i was fourteen, too. but what she didn't know wouldn't kill her.
the sound of the flight attendant's voice put a stop to my peaceful thoughts. i probably could have gone up there and recited her whole safety spiel myself considering how often i travelled by plane, so i opted to tune out, discreetly plugging my earbuds into my ears.
it was then that my phone buzzed in my lap.
a message from an unknown number sat at the bottom of my screen. my eyebrows drew together in a frown.
10:27 pm
###-###-####: hi
eager to figure out who had stumbled across my phone number—and how—before i had to disconnect, i typed back a quick response.
valerie: who's this?
i dropped my phone back into my lap. brought my fingers anxiously to my lips. turned to stare out the window at the airport once again.
my mind raced as i awaited a reply. whatever the opposite of a new york minute was, i was suffering through it.
i didn't have the slightest idea who could have gotten my number, or where or whom they would have gotten it from. i was a private person. the people in my circle knew so, too. so unless someone found themselves blurting out the string of digits entirely unique to me as if it was a secret they could no longer keep, or thought it would be funny to scrawl them onto a bathroom stall, or something, i was at a loss.
