Me:
Cruel. Poor imaginary dog.
Six:
He made a full recovery. Real fighter, that one. Pulled through against all odds.
I bite back a laugh. This is the easiest part of my day. With Six, I don’t have to think about how I look, or how I sound, or whether my leggings are rolling down weirdly in the back. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. Somehow, that makes it better.
Me:
Confession. I hate phone calls.
Six:
Anything worth saying could be sent in an email.
Me:
Exactly.
Three dots appear on the screen, and disappear a couple of times before his reply comes in.
Six:
So, does that mean there’s no chance of you ever picking up if I called? Even just once?
My heart hammers in my chest. My fingers pause over the keys. Because the truth is, Idowant to hear his voice. I want to know if he sounds like I imagine. If he laughs the way I read his texts.
But I’m scared, too.
Calls feel risky. Like it’d break the spell. Strip the mystery.
He might hear my voice andknow.
Or worse.Imight knowhim.
And I’m not ready for that.
Right now, it’s perfect. Safe. Secret. Just two anonymous people telling each other their confessions.
My fingers hover over the screen for a few seconds before I type out my answer.
Me:
Too risky.
Six:
Uh oh. You think you’ll fall in love with my voice?
I roll my eyes, smiling like a total idiot. I feel all warm and fuzzy and… happy. I always do when I talk to him.
Me:
You wish.
Six:
