I open Raya, going right to the messages tab and tapping on Timothee's picture. Briefly scrolling through his pictures, the short messages we exchanged, recalling how it led to that night. The feeling in my gut as I walked to that bar, when I saw his silhouette, his leather jacket and tousled brown curls.
I open the keyboard to type, noticing how badly my hands are shaking, trying to shake it off as best as I can. I probably type out multiple different versions of a message until I settle on one.
hey stranger. i'm so sorry again about the other night. how are you? is your face okay?
I lock my phone, tossing it between my legs onto the bed. A minute passes. I pick up my phone again and scroll through Instagram. Look through Twitter. Go to my settings and make sure my notifications are on. Check the app to make sure I didn't miss anything. It's been five minutes.
I resort to taking my laundry out of the dryer and throwing it onto the bed. Check my phone. I fold all of the laundry and put it all away. Still nothing. I turn on an episode of Friends on the living room TV, slump onto the couch with my phone next to me, and end up falling asleep.
I'm woken up when I hear the front door open and shut. I groggily peer around, finding Lara back from work.
"Shh, the baby's sleeping," she mocks, walking past me and to her room.
Netflix has the "still watching?" message on the TV, indicating I must have been out for some time. I grapple around for my phone.
Timothée sent you a message
My breath catches in my throat.
marley:) hoped we'd talk again. lucky me.
the face is fine! couple ice packs for a few days did me just fine. thought my agent was gonna kill me, but just had to wear sunglasses in public for a couple days and stay mostly hidden
The paparazzi. I hadn't even thought of that. Now I felt even worse - what if there had been some stupid headline about Timothée having a black eye, and it all having been my fault?
wow, i'm so sorry again to have to put you through all that trouble. just wanted to pop in and say sorry again!
please please please don't feel bad about any of this! it was no one's fault. if anything i should be apologizing.
i know we only really had that one night together, but you're on my mind quite often and i think super highly of you
well i happen to think very highly of you too
thanks for wanting to look out for me
i'm glad you're okay!
can i ask you something
shoot, what's up
that first night, it was good for you, right?
absolutely.
okay. you left pretty quickly and i wasn't sure
sorry - i think it was impulse. i didn't want to overstay my welcome but yes.
i think about it a lot too.
do you ever think about it happening again?
maybe.
if anything, you're too damn pretty. and sexy. inside and out. i'm not just saying that
timothée, you're too fucking pretty. and fucking sexy. inside and out. definitely not just saying that
touché
not to change the subject because you're kind of turning me on butttttt i'm having a couple friends over friday night and you're more than welcome to come :)
okay! :) i'd love to
Sometime along the way, I'd migrated to my bed. I rest my phone on my stomach. I'd gone into this holding my breath - then I remembered just how natural and effortless it felt talking to him.
Hoped we'd talk again. I wonder where he is right now. I imagine him lying on his bed, his brown curls tousled on the pillow. His faint smirk.
Kicking my legs over the bed, I walk to my closet and dig out that shirt from behind the laundry basket. I hold it a couple seconds before I walk back to my bed. Lie down again. And lay the shirt on my face, inhaling deeply.