Silver Stilettos

9 | say goodnight and go

I didn't know how he got my number, but the text message showed up in the middle of the night. The bright screen lit up, colorful icons set against the backdrop of a starry night sky. I knew it wouldn't be Matt, because he'd texted me goodnight at ten thirty, with a final admonishment that I was never to invite him to a party again.

I always kept my phone tucked next to my pillow like a teenage version of a teddy bear. It never lit up at night. But this night was different. My certainty was absolute. Because today was the day I'd visited Reed's house. Today was the day he'd told me things and I'd believed him. It was the day he'd given me a knife and I'd accepted.

I knew it was Reed's text before I even opened the message.

It was a simple Hey without a period or a smiley. In the dark, my phone cast a silvery glow in the room, magnified even more when I drew my knees up and pulled the blanket over my head.

Hey I typed back.

His reply came instantly. Did I wake you?

My heartbeat echoed in my ears, throbbing and thrumming like tribal drums. No. My phone's on silent at night. I saw it light up. I kind of thought it would be you.

Am I so predictable?

He was the farthest thing from predictable. I didn't tell him that. Something told me that he'd take it as a compliment. Nope, I'm psychic I typed. How'd you get this number?

Asked around.

It was the kind of non-answer that prickled the hair on my arms. Evasive answer? Not cool, dude.

Don't chick dig the mysterious?

I thought about that for a moment. No. Honesty is the new sexy.

Do you still have the knife?

I blanched. Seeing the word "knife" in black and white on my screen made me uncomfortable. Things in writing had a way of coming back to bite you, Dad always said. Seeing the offending word made me realize how right he was. This wasn't a case of talking shit about a friend in a Facebook IM and then seeing it crop up again later in a screen cap, someone's idea of fun to stir the pot.

My forehead had broken out in sweat. Admitting that I had it felt almost criminal. Something I didn't want in writing.

Go to sleep, Reed. It's almost 3 in the morning.

No school tomorrow. Can you come over?

I didn't want to go back there. His big house with just him and me in it. My gaze landed on the wooden box, innocently laying on my desk.  Maybe I should have kept it closer to me.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind that I swung my legs out of bed and padded to the desk, using the flashlight on my phone to guide my way.

The silver gleamed where the light hit it, reflected back at me ten times shinier. My stomach knotted, sending sharp cramps into my abdomen. Shit. I was so over my head.

I crept back to my bed, trying to fold my stomach over to abate the pain. Once back in bed, I curled up in the fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest. If my phone was a teddy, then surely the knife was a security blanket.

Another message popped up. Or I can come over instead?

I winced. He had taken my delay in replying as a way to invite himself over. I couldn't have him in my house again.

Not my place. Somewhere public.

His reply came back within seconds. Good idea. People can see us together.