I have the most restless night, my thoughts invaded by reliving the memory of Hayden's lips on mine, his hands on my thigh, his intoxicating scent when he claimed my lips with so much fervor...
Oh my God. Stop, Mila!
After that restless night, I wake up with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something feels off, like bad things are waiting to happen.
I haven't heard from Hayden, and when I called him—well, me—a second time this morning, the phone went straight to voicemail. Again. Why on earth is he not charging the goddamn phone?
But I decide I can't do much about it. I don't even know the guy's last name, let alone where he lives. So I try to find my sanity in the large pot of coffee on my desk, combined with a new pack of peanut butter cups.
This had better work.
Of course, it doesn't. Of course, I sit there for hours, wrapped in my blanket as I stare at the paper in my typewriter. Two words I have written. Chapter and One.
After the unexpected success of my first novel Heaven and Hell about six months ago, my publisher is now pushing me for the second novel I'm contractually obliged to write. But, now that I have deadlines to meet and editors to talk to, it seems like my inspiration went up in flames, like the rest of my sanity.
Even writing character arcs and outlines doesn't help the massive boulder called pressure that's resting on my chest. Instead, I keep glancing at my phone, keep hoping for him to finally call me.
Until he finally does.
Only, it's not him, it's the name Hank blinking on the screen.
Deciding it might be my best option in finding my phone—after all, I'm just as clueless as last night—I take a deep breath before I pick up the call. "Hello?" My voice is so shaky when I answer, I feel like I'm back in fifth grade.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"I'm, uh... I'm Mila."
"Okay, Mila. And why are you answering my client's phone?" The male voice at the other end of the line sounds arrogant and snarky, which only fuels the growing pit in my stomach as I swallow, gathering all the confidence I have before answering him.
"Because we accidentally swapped phones, and now I can't reach him. Maybe you know of some way to get in contact with—"
"You what?" he interrupts me. "He doesn't have his phone?"
"Obviously not, or do I sound like a man?" I can't help but snap. Yeah, Mila, you show him!
"This is a disaster. I need to talk to John," the stranger rambles now.
"Wait, could you—" But the line has already gone silent, and I release a frustrated scream before I throw another peanut butter cup in my mouth. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Frustrated, I go through the options again.
Calling my phone? Check. Didn't work.
Finding my phone? Check. Didn't work.
Asking someone he knows? Check. Didn't work.
Jasmine suggested I search through his phone to find out who he is, but I really don't want to do that. Who knows what kind of stuff I could find on there? And honestly, I wouldn't want him going through my phone, either.
So I sigh as I sit there on the floor for what must be hours, patiently waiting for something, anything, to happen.
And then it does.
Ding!
A text message appears at the top of the screen.
Hey, this is Hayden. I only now realized I got the wrong phone, sorry about that.
"Sorry about that?" It's three in the afternoon! What the hell has he been doing all day?
I've been on the plane for the last couple of hours and just now got a chance to charge it.
Can he read my mind? I mean, it does make—wait, he was on a plane? No...
No!
I try to answer him, but the lock screen prevents me from doing that as it asks for a password. Good God, handsome stranger, use your brain!
Oh, the code is 4503. Now you kind of have to answer, though ;)
Within seconds I unlock the phone and open the messenger app, typing my reply as fast as I can. Hey. Did you just say you were on a plane?
I did.
Where exactly are you right now? My anxiety is slowly but surely reaching its peak. This is too unreal.
Chicago, Illinois.
Oh my God. Can this day get any worse?
Another text chimes in. I'm here for two days before I go to New York.
New York? Really?
Wait. When's the next time you will even be in L.A.?
It takes a while for him to reply, and so I just sit there, my fingertips tapping the floor until finally, a new notification pops up. In about one week.
One week? How am I supposed to go without my phone for an entire week? Not that I have a crazy social life—it's the notes, contacts, and especially my dad I'm worried about...
Look. I know this is inconvenient, but I can't afford my phone being completely shut off for a day or two to have it shipped here. Would it be alright if you contacted certain people and gave them your number so they can call me on your phone? I'll do it the other way around.
I think about this for a second. His solution doesn't sound too bad, honestly. That way, everyone who needs to can reach me under his number. But even so, he would have my phone for a week.
Oh, and I promise not to sniff around too much, and that's big coming from me. I'm a genuinely curious person ;)
A hint of a smile crosses my face at his confession. It's not like there's any dirt on my phone that he could uncover, but still... Ugh, get over yourself, Mila.
I guess that's the best solution, isn't it?
Well, people say I'm good at finding solutions.
Wow. I don't even know what else to say to that.
Yeah, I know. I'm full of myself.
I snort at his words. This guy's attitude really is something else.
After we exchange contact information and both have a list of people we need to inform about this situation, I suddenly receive another message.
Oh, and one very important thing. If someone named Hank is calling, please, pretty please, do not pick up the phone.
Whoops. It might be a little late for that... I reply, and I'm honestly not surprised when he doesn't answer for a minute or two.
Oh God. He finally responds.
Sorry! But, you know, you could've just taken another look at the phone before you went and left the state.
Touché. I guess something or someone must've fried my brain last night.
Heat rushes into my cheeks from his words, and I can't help but grin too. This stranger is really easy to talk to, and he seems to have a decent sense of humor. Oh, and that kiss...
But I remind myself of the fact that he's obviously loaded, and being in that club means he's probably a popular jock or something like that. And I know all too well what happens when I hang out with popular people. The memory of my terrible high school experience still lingers in my mind, even if it's almost ten years ago now.
I guess that's why I find myself typing another message, hitting the send button before I can overthink it. Well, I guess I'll see you and my phone in a week.
It doesn't take long for the reply to pop up on the screen. See you in a week, Mila.
***
An unfamiliar ringtone echoes through my room, startling me out of my dream. I squint my eyes from the flashing lights before I glide my finger over the screen to pick up the call, desperately needing the lights to turn off again.
"Hello?" I answer without hesitation. My usual phone-call anxiety must still be asleep.
"Ice?"
The male voice makes me jerk up, my heart pounding in my chest as I realize that this, in fact, is not my phone. A quick glance on the screen tells me I just picked up a call by someone called Kill. What a name to wake up to...
"Ice? Uh... No, I... This is Mila." I stammer.
"Well, hello Mila. You have a beautiful voice."
What the hell is happening... My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to form words, which only ends up with me not saying anything, my throat suddenly clogged from anxiety.
"Okay then," the male voice named Kill mutters, obviously confused by my behavior. "Any chance you know where Hayden is?"
"I... I think he's in Chicago."
My words elicit a laugh from the man on the other end of the line, and I immediately feel the anxiety running through my veins again, filling my cheeks with heat as I listen to his response.
"I know he's in Chicago, sweetheart. I was supposed to pick him up, but I don't know his room number."
"Oh, I see. Maybe try calling him under this number..." I don't know how my tired brain thinks of this, but I end up telling him my own phone number to which he responds with another laugh.
"Alrighty, then... Do I want to know who you are and why you have his phone? I'm sure Hank won't be too pleased."
Who the hell is Hank and why is everyone so afraid of him?!
"I don't... I don't know. Maybe ask Hayden about that."
"Okay, I'll do just that, then. You must be some girl if he trusts you with his phone. That thing basically dictates his life."
And I can only imagine how right he is about that. I've received a ton of notifications ever since I've had this phone. Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, you name it—he has them all, and they blow up his phone constantly.
"Well, I'll just give this number a call and see if that works. Otherwise, I'll have a great excuse to hear that sweet voice of yours again."
"I uh..."
God, I really can't deal with overly flirty men. I always get really shy and awkward because it feels so unnatural and forced.
And of course, the men always notice, just like this Kill person that is still on the line when I hear him chuckle at my response.
"Alright. I guess I'm going now. See ya, sweetheart."
With the click of the line, I release a loud groan, slamming the phone on the nightstand before I hide underneath my covers, the feeling of pure and utter humiliation slamming into me.
I got nothing on paper yesterday, either. I know I need to call my agent to postpone the deadline, but I'm dreading that phone call so much. I hate not being reliable and efficient, because it never happened before. I absolutely loathe feeling like I disappointed someone, but right now I feel like whenever I start typing I just get frustrated with whatever I wrote.
It's a vicious cycle, and I have no idea how to break it. I don't want to write just anything, because despite being socially anxious, I'm also a perfectionist. It's a dangerous combination. Because I want my stories to live; Want my characters to be real to my readers, want them to fall in love with them as much as I do when I create their lives.
"Get yourself together, Mila. If you hurry up now, you maybe don't even have to call Noelle..." I mumble to myself before flipping the covers, letting the fresh air hit my bare legs as I take a deep breath.
"Quit the whining. Now's a good a time as any."
God, I'm glad no one sees my crazy soliloquy, I'm sure they'd put me in a mental hospital immediately.
A quick glance on my alarm clock tells me it's five in the morning, and I want to slap myself for bringing this phone disaster upon myself. It not only occupies my mind, but now it also wakes me up at unearthly hours.
And so I actually get up at five in the morning. The last time I did that must be years ago.
But it doesn't help, I just do what I always do these days. Sitting in front of my typewriter, coffee and bagel in my hand as I stare at the blank piece of paper, trying to figure out what the hell to write.