CHAPTER 4: For the rest of the day, you look at your phone way more than usual. You make up the excuses in your mind: Check your email, Facebook, whether Olivia has written you about time and place (although it's not her name you look at when you open your inbox), and when she finally does, at around 2 pm - a Chinese restaurant you both like at eight o'clock - you make up another excuse about having to check every once in a while to see whether she might change her mind and choose a different time or another restaurant instead. You try to do it casually, relaxed, but whenever you reach for the phone, you feel the butterflies flutter, not much, but just slightly enough for you to notice, in the pit of your stomach, and although you can convince yourself many things, you can't convince yourself that you get fluttering butterflies because of Olivia. Why does someone you don't even know for anything but a pretty face and a good voice make you so nervous? Nervous and excited? Is it because he's famous? Honestly, it is kind of an insane thought that you have his number. Because he IS famous. He's a guy that so many people idolize and adore, and you have his number. You realize, slightly embarrassed, that his fame might have more to do with the butterflies than anything else. You decide that you won't look at the phone again unless someone actually writes you, and you force yourself to look back at the show you're watching, and try - and fail - to get caught up in it. It's some CSI-episode that you've seen a billion times before, and you already know who the killer is, even though the show has only been on for about ten minutes. You switch the channel, and watch the news for half an hour until they start repeating, and then you switch again, and find a Friends-marathon that you start to watch half-heartedly. You've always found it amusing, and even in your nervous state, you can't help but laugh. It's an all-day thing, and you don't get up from your couch until around eight to cook some water and make cup noodles. Oh, what a Saturday night, you think to yourself as you pour the water over the noodles and carry them to the coffee table, and then you dump back on the couch and reach out for the noodles, while staring at the screen, watching Phoebe perform "Smelly Cat". Bling.
You grab the noodles and lean back, pull up some from the hot water, and then you almost choke.
Bling. It said bling.
You look at the phone, and you just manage to catch a glimpse of a phone number before your screen turns black.
You put the noodles on the table in such a rush that you spill some of the water, but you barely notice as you grab the phone and press the button and light up the screen.
It's from him.
You open the message, and maybe your hand trembles a little. You re-read the short, few messages you've sent to each other.
The picture.
Adam: :)
Adam: Stop fucking me over. I won't do this shit. Call me.
You: Hi, wrong number.
Adam: shit.
You: I'm sorry.
You slowly move your eyes to the next text.
- she called me.
You read it twice, and then, daringly, write something. He didn't have to answer you, not at all, but he did. So you should answer him, too... Right?
Adam: she called me.
You: And?
You press send, wondering whether it would have been better with a plain "ok". You hold the phone in your hand for a moment, then put it down - this time on the couch next to you - and then you grab the noodles and lean back again, looking at Joey try to act French. A few long moments pass.
Bling.
- and?
You blink. Does he want you to ask the question straight out or what?
- What's going on? you write, then turn your attention back to the tv.
Bling.
- what do you think?
You hesitate, wondering how to handle this.
- I don't want to think.
Send.
You eat some noodles.
Bling.
- why not?
You sigh.
- I just don't.
Bling.
- why not?
You stare at the screen, then groan.
- It's not nice.
Bling.
- why not?
What's wrong with you?!
- Do you want to tell me or not? you write, annoyed, and chew on your noodles absentmindedly.
Bling.
- i don't know.
...
- Should I just ask?
Bling.
- yeah.
You consider it for a moment.
- Did she fuck you over?
You wait, unsure.
Bling.
- *thumbs up*
- So, did you...?
Bling.
- break up.
- *thumbs up*
Bling.
- i guess.
- And?
Bling.
- fuck.
