There was no way Conan was gonna talk to Heather. Nah. Nil. No. Nada. Nahi.
Heather was someone he really fucking hated in High School. He never even knew that guy but he hated that he made him feel less important. Like he was nothing. Even though, he was so far in his life, he couldn't talk to him. Heather was someone he could never get over hating.
Heather. It wasn't his real name. Heathcliff, like the brooding Gypsy born guy from Wuthering Heights.
Conan smacked his head on a pillow. He was in such a deliemma. So much for thinking his fans wouldn't hurt him. They weren't hurting him, but more like telling him to broaden his fucking horizon and talk to Heather.
Ashley had left an hour ago and he wasn't sure if she would have seen the results. There was no point in waiting anymore. Everyone must know that this would be the most upvoted one. But...the idea of imagining that he could delay this shit was surely tempting. Come on, how worse could things get?
He thought of calling the manager but realized that there was nothing she would be able to do about it. She would, instead of helping him get out of the mess, lecture him, like his mom.
"I fucking hate you karma." He laughed a little maniacally and adjusted the collar of his shirt. His body was covered with cold sweat. The shirt was sticking in places. Long story short, he needed a shower.
The stripped bare and stepped into the bathroom.
A shower always made him feel better. It was like he could wash away all the concerns from his body, along with the dirt. After stepping out, he stuffed himself into some comfortable clothes, a gray sweatshirt that ironically said Heather(The world is cruel, kids), and checked trousers.
He decided he wanted to sit in his reading corner. He didn't want to read but it was a good place to journal and throw together some verses.
The snugged into the chair and made a mental note about his house plants. He wanted to check his phone, to see if the tables had turned but he had vowed that he wouldn't take the dare. There was no point in checking it.
Around noon he got a text from Ashley.
Ashhhh: Here is Heather's number. 23138894930. ٩( ○❛ö❛)۶. Have fun...hehe
Conan: Fuck you
Ashhhh: Nah, bro.
There was no way Ashley didn't know Heather was Heathcliff Charles. Even his name sounded so royal and perfect.
Here comes Duke Charles, Heathcliff of Bubbling Insecurities.
Everyone who had been to his high school must have already figured out that Heathcliff was Heather. He volunteered at a pet shelter, did all his homework, smiled at everyone in the hallways and probably prayed before dinner.
Conan wasn't sure if Heaven existed or not but if it did that boy would no fucking problem getting in. He might as well be an angel.
If Heathcliff followed him on Twitter, he would have already found out. He could shoot him a quick text, maybe?
Hey! Heathcliff, do you remember me? If not, I am the dude that wanted you dead in high school because a girl I liked, liked you. Also, instead of talking my feelings out, I decided to write a passive aggressive song about how much I hated you. It got millions of streams. So, thank you for bring mad perfect.
Heather
23138894930
Conan: Hey. I am Conan Gray.
Conan: We went to High school together.
Nah, Conan thought.
"No way I am talking to this guy." He mumbled to himself and he got up from bed. He was about to unsend it when, as if on cue, his phone died.
*********
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed! :D