Two strangers. One blog.
One writes in the dark, never knowing who reads.
The other reads in silence, never saying who she is.
Mia Michels is a journalism student who hides behind a fake name, spilling her thoughts like confessions at 3 a.m. Her pos...
I looked at her again. I could hear her voice in my head, run through every one of our conversations as if they had been etched in fire.
"Yes. And I can't..."
"You can't stand the thought that while you're trying to build something, someone else might dare to steal what could be yours. That it?"
I stared at him, wide-eyed, barely blinking. I hadn't expected him to read me that clearly, as if he had found the key to a thought I had tried to keep locked away. It was unsettling, and at the same time, there was a strange comfort in knowing that not everything I felt was trapped in silence.
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Rhonda's eyes were brighter than I'd ever seen them, and I'd lost count of how many drinks she'd had. John, always the sensible one, was right when he said the best thing to do was head back in an Uber. So the three of us kept drinking, even as my body edged closer to its limit.
John made a habit of shooing off guys who tried to latch onto us. He held Rhonda by the waist while I moved in sync with them, as if the three of us had been born to dance the same rhythm. It kept the old lie alive, the one that had gotten us out of plenty of awkward stares before: that we were a threesome. Sometimes we even sealed it with a quick, harmless kiss and laughed when the curious onlookers finally left us alone.
"I need to pee," Rhonda muttered. I went with her, because I was about to burst too. The heat was suffocating and I needed air.
John waited outside the bathroom door. Rhonda tugged at his shirt, pulled him down, and planted a kiss on his lips that left me blinking. I didn't say anything, but the thought that maybe I'd imagined it spun in my head. Maybe the booze was more hallucinogenic than expected.
Like that time Rhonda and I swore we'd seen a pink elephant on a bicycle. John still kept the so-called evidence on his phone, as if it were treasure.
When I came out and went to the sink, I couldn't stop staring at Rhonda.
"That... happened, right?"
"What did?" She gave me this wide-eyed look of innocence that only made me doubt myself more. I didn't let it go.
"You either shoved your tongue down John's throat, or you're really bad at mouth-to-mouth," I whispered. Rhonda blushed and giggled.
"If you did it, you did it," I raised my voice and pointed at her. "Since when has this been going on?" I planted my hands on my hips, indignant.
"Nothing's happened... yet." That was all she said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me out. John was waiting, still looking like he hadn't snapped out of it.
"Come on, handsome, the dance floor's still calling."
I lifted both eyebrows, since I'd never been able to lift just one. I'd practiced in front of the mirror and always ended up looking ridiculous.
