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With This Heart(6)

By:R. S. Grey




Abby             : You answered my question with a question.

Beck             : I don’t like cliffhangers.



He had texted back quickly again, and in that moment I decided that             Gossip Girl             wasn’t actually all that accurate considering they had cast thirty-year-olds to play high schoolers. So, instead of being cool, I responded.



Abby             : You answered my question with a non sequitur. You’re getting worse.

Beck             : No, trust me, it’s a sequitur. I don’t like cliffhangers. Enter-girl buying an urn. She clearly lies about what it’s for and then takes off into the sunset? I have to know how it ends. Murder suicide?

Abby             : Don’t you have a life?

Beck             : I’m living it right now.

Abby             : I mean work or a family. Oh god, are you a dad?

Beck             : Do I look that old?

Abby             : Maybe.

Beck             : I’ll take that as a compliment, and I’m not leaving anything behind that can’t be put on pause for two weeks.



I thought about how much that statement translated to my life as well. My stomach churned until I pushed the thought away so I could type out another text.



Abby             : What percentage of you wants to rape and murder me on the side of the highway?



I had to ask. I could have probably been more suave about it, but there was no point. He wasn’t actually going to come on my road trip anyway.



Beck             : Are you crazy? The side of a highway is a terrible place for a murder. There are witnesses driving by. I don’t know how long it’d take me to find a dump site. And Lord knows, you wouldn’t be compliant. Plus, I’d never get past the cliffhanger you’ve thrown at me.

Abby             : Sarcasm doesn’t translate very well over text, so I’m going to assume you’re serious and not text you anymore.



I didn’t put my phone away. I knew he was kidding, and even if he wasn’t kidding, his greenish swirly eyes were almost worth taking the chance on him being a serial killer.



Beck             : Not texting me is a sure fire way to get to the top of my murder list… You’d be leap-frogging the guy in Chipotle earlier who skimped on my rice.

Abby             : La la la… This is me not responding.

Beck             : Okay, hold on. We just met and I’ve made two murder jokes…

Abby             : Stay on topic…

Beck             : Sometimes you have to trust people.



I snorted. Yeah, right.



Abby             : You just answered my question with a cliché.



My phone dropped on the table and I left it there as I wandered around my apartment. I went to my refrigerator and browsed the bleak contents. I strolled through my room, rearranging things that I’d just placed thirty minutes earlier.

But the only thing I             actually             did was consider Beck’s comment and the way it had burrowed into my consciousness.

An hour later, I replied again with two simply words.



Abby             : I know.



I said “I know”, but I couldn’t think of a single person I had been forced to trust like that. For the rest of the night as I laid in my bed, I tried to imagine Beck and I living like the gay, one part blind couple next door. They seemed really happy, albeit suffering from an alcohol addiction. They had a few cats and sometimes through the walls I could hear them playing music and laughing. That seemed like love to me.





The next morning, I woke up to a text.



Beck             : When do we leave?



I didn’t answer. It was one thing to consider taking him on my road trip in the middle of the night when I was nearing unconsciousness and feeling lonely in my tiny apartment. In the light of day, clarity sank back in and I shoved my phone into my purse without a response.