The first few days were good for me, it was stimulating to cut out all the parts of my life that were infected and unsalvageable with surgical precision. I called into work, I had been away for a while so the owner was happy to hear from me again, then I gave my two weeks notice with the excuse of losing a lot of my capacity for handling my old workload due to the coma and its complications. We'd been talking before, about coming back, but he was still very understanding about my situation even if he insisted that we could alter my tasks to make it work; we'd been close, after all, the three of us, and I understood if he felt that he needed us there to keep things afloat. Even still, I declined; I'd never be able to work shoulder to shoulder with her ever again. Stella and Rosa kept calling my phone all day long, they even came knocking on the door but I didn't show them any signs of life, even turned off my ringtone when they were outside so that they wouldn't hear it. My text message log had started piling up, but I swiped away the notifications; I didn't need to read them to know what was waiting for me there. I could imagine Stella's face as she realizes the extent to which she has fucked up, reality crashing in on her as it had once done to me; forcing her to live with the consequences of her actions. It's a hell I wouldn't wish on anyone to have to live through, but if there ever was someone that deserved it, it was her. I'm not sure if I missed her, or the safety she provided. A nice home life with company, cuddling up in front of something on the TV, shared interests, a close bond that just made us work together in harmony. I would know what she was thinking before she did, and vice versa. All I know is that it feels weird nowadays, trying to get through everyday life without her; as if I had somehow gotten used to being completed with someone else. As if she had been my other half, now turned into nothing but a gaping hole. As we worked in perfect sync to make our lives the best that they could be, reaching out towards the future together. Making dinner I'd still take out two chopping boards, I'd still try and delegate preparing the main dish and making the salad between the two of us. I'd start to clean up the apartment, thinking that she would do the laundry at the same time, I'd dust the bedroom and living room while I thought she would have scrubbed the kitchen. I'd consider checking out the new anime together, thinking about what suggestions she would bring to the table and how we'd set up marathoning them in stages. I'd look at the news, and check out if there were any nice events happening that she'd want to go to. It felt like half of who I was had gone missing overnight. I suddenly had to do the work of two people, even while living alone. I'd have to keep struggling through everyday life without having someone else there supporting me in my times of need; like we've been supporting each other for such a long time. A disconnect between my old reality and the new lonely reality that I'd have to accept and adapt to, the one where she'd never come back; where we never would get to share our lives. Where I would never get to give her the love and care she needed, that she once deserved, while she did the same to me. This was a nightmare I'd never awaken from; only grow accustomed to. I didn't have time to grieve for the first few days, since I was too busy getting everything in order. As soon as I was out of work, the gravity of the situation hit me; I'd be all alone again. There would be no one to wake up to in the mornings, no one to brush my teeth next to in the mirror. No spiked tail to consider as we wrapped ourselves in blankets when we cozied up for anime nights. No one to nerd out about the next gunpla we'd put together and paint. No one to talk about the weirder parts of my life with, no one that understood me like she'd done where I wouldn't even have to explain ANYTHING to have her understand EVERYTHING I felt. No one to tell that I would care for, and want to have in my life. She never got to tell me she loved me that night, and she never would have the opportunity to do so in the future either. I'd never be able to reciprocate, like I knew I would have done had she gotten to say the words; had she gotten to finish her sentence. That particular memory had been running on repeat. Even if we never said we loved each other in that way or stated that we were a couple, it just sort of happened that we drifted into a life similar to such. I wanted it back. But there wasn't anything left to have. I couldn't even imagine how my life would be, should that have been the last time I ever saw her. I couldn't even imagine what I would do next, without her. I couldn't do this anymore. I just couldn't. What remains of me is only half a person. How the hell would I even start to grow back what I had lost? Fuck. There wasn't anything I could do. It would hurt and it would keep hurting, every night and every day. I would feel the emptiness left behind, see the remains of her shadow looming over every part of my life. Why did you do it, Stella? Why? Finally falling asleep was like balsam for my aching soul, to feel nothing for a while, to see nothing, and to remember nothing. Deep and dark dreams where I'd not have to be in my room, where I didn't have to be away from anyone, not have to be close to anyone. Where time and emotions and loss would turn into nothing. Existing had never felt this hollow, nor been this lonely. There was no one left out there for me anymore. I'd been here before, but I thought I had finally gotten out of this space for good when I reconnected with my old friends. Who was even left? Trish? Reed? I'd left Naser behind when I broke Fang's heart, I'm sure he didn't want anything to do with me. Neither would Trish and Reed since I broke their band, their best friend and what was supposed to be the best time of their lives. I'm better off just moving on, finding new friends through a new job in a new place with a new start. No use living in the past any longer. Rosa gave up trying to contact me long before Stella did, I didn't see her calling more than once a week while Stella still kept at it about once every day or more on the weekends. Once my inbox reached more than 50 voice messages, my phone stopped counting and started deleting the oldest ones, but I didn't really care to block their numbers. There was no point, the feeling of them desperately stretching out after me in some sort of regretful sorrow made it seem like we were all wallowing in pain, which is exactly what they deserved. A small relief in knowing that someone would miss me should I disappear completely. I should have known better than to trust that they would actually care for me. Then came the issue of finding a new apartment. I looked through a few notices, contacted landlords, and eventually got a hit on a fairly large place a bit out of town that I took. I'd scrubbed my identity from all records earlier, so there was no way for Stella to find me if I'd move out there and change my number. There was this guy I'd met a few months ago when we were out having lunch that worked at a moving firm that had insisted on giving me his card 'just in case', so I gave him a call where we set up a move two months from now when this lease ran out and the next lease took hold; they'd even move in and pack as long as I had everything 'in order', whateverthefuck that meant. I'd just have to make it there, through two months of agony, and this whole ordeal would be over. Purchasing a new SIM card wasn't complicated, I headed out to the corner store when I went out to grab a pack of cheap lagers, some menthols, and a few bag-in-boxes to help me through the week. I don't know when the habit of having those at home started, but it was a habit that I picked up again before I even realized I was waking up clutching my porcelain throne in the middle of the night after downing a few too many glasses. I wake up, grab something to eat, loiter around, and fall asleep either on the couch or on my bed. Dream about everything that has happened, wake up in cold sweat, go back to loitering, and fall asleep after a few more hours. Sometimes the cycle is broken when either the rare phone call to set up the move or a call from the pizza delivery guy arriving, wakes me up from my trance. I hadn't gotten a panic attack for a long while now; I suppose there was nothing left to worry about since my worries had all been nullified, even if there was a gnawing doubt in the back of my head that I could just go back and we would return to our old lives as if nothing had happened. Even if years of suffering, panic attacks, anxiety, and severe depression had been orchestrated by those two just to give Stella what she wanted. To give me what I thought I wanted. I still can't believe she would keep Fang from me. That for even a fraction of a second she would believe that separating me from fixing the biggest mistake I'd ever made would somehow make me feel better. That she'd get to keep me for as long as I'd need her to keep me safe from the painful memories of the past. What could even drive a person to go to such lengths? Was it love, pity, or greed? Either way, she'd crossed the line by miles. I didn't have the strength to hate her, she didn't deserve hate. I didn't pity her, she didn't deserve pity. She deserved to be forgotten, to never again cross my mind, and to never cross paths with me again. To fade away all alone, without making an impression; that was the lot she had confined herself to. But I couldn't bear to do it. Rosa doing the same as Stella was the part that had shocked me the most, and I couldn't muster myself to hold any bad blood between us. Just like Trish, she'd carried out a despicable deed just to keep her friend safe, and I respected that dedication to an Hermana. I knew, however, that I couldn't have any sort of meaningful relationship with Rosa ever again, both since she'd gone and done that for Stella and because she'd be pulling Stella into it should I wish to only have Rosa in my life. They'd come as a package, a 2-for-1 deal when I really didn't need any more bullshit in my life. No more weeaboo screwups tearing me apart. When you're alone without a job in an empty apartment, you get lots of time to think. Being alone with your thoughts was almost worse than sharing them with the demons of your past, even if I didn't feel Fang's arm resting on my shoulder as she berated me, there had been some sort of comfort in knowing that even in the abyss someone would be by my side. But now, all I could do was wait. Wait around in a state of suspended existence, instead of living a life where I could be looking over my shoulder to see Stella going about her daily business. Now I just saw reminders of her and an empty apartment. The waiting was the worst part, there was nothing I could do in between the few set dates that things would simply OCCUR and correct my path in life; the move to a new apartment, the weekly shopping, the Friday threads on the Mandolin-tuning forums, it was all just a blur in between those events. Blink and you'd miss it. Time whizzed past, but even if days blended together just existing in them had time feeling as if it was standing still, each task only passing a few minutes on my journey towards a better future while still needing a full day of my attention and efforts. Everything I did fought against me with an unreasonable amount of force; just going over to the tap and getting a glass of water felt like a monumental task. My body felt heavy. My strength had returned, not in full force yet, but I was strong even if I wasn't as strong as before. There was just this feeling of my limbs having got their own mind, not following the orders I sent out through my nerves for them to get going. Well, that's only a half-truth since I knew why they weren't working; I didn't want my legs to take me to the store, or my hands and arms to cook food all on my lonesome, or my mind to do anything except fade away into the sweet release that sleep brought. This was a different kind of fog to wade through; I didn't know where I was heading, just that the heavy mist was so acrid that my lungs were melting while I tried to pace a path. It took a day to move from the bed to the store, it took a week to take out one bag of trash, and it took a month to realize what I was doing to myself. I closed my eyes and day turned to night, I sat at the computer to pass the time but I only posted once on a Latvian Woodcarving forum before it was already time for dinner, and I think I hadn't even pondered breakfast today. The phone calls had stopped, I don't really know when, so I looked at my phone to see what time it is and if I should prepare breakfast, lunch, or maybe even go to bed. How long had I been awake? My phone told me nothing, its black screen just reflected the face marked by a horrifying reality back at me, so I flip it over to only have the matte casing visible and plug it in to charge. Then I look back and all of a sudden it's full, and I'm holding a can of beer in my other hand. Where did I get that from? Entering my PIN code, but a buzz and a red warning tell me that it's wrong. How could it be wrong? I type it in again, the lock screen turning into a home screen and revealing a few more missed calls and some texts that I swipe away before I run the risk of reading them. Oh yeah, I was supposed to check the time, so as I'm lying in bed I lift the phone up to look at the clock, and there are already three more missed calls. My can is nowhere to be found, but I thankfully have a bottle of water next to my bed that I greedily take a swig from; water felt damn good, I hope I've been drinking enough of it lately. Then I wake up, my phone by my side. No charger plugged in, but it's laying face down. I pick it up, turn it on, and enter the PIN code of my new SIM card. There were no new calls, no texts either. I lay down again, and close my eyes. Was this real; was I even alive? Standing in the kitchen I feel a pang of hunger run through me, so I put on the electric kettle before opening the fridge; a few sad eggs, some mince, an onion, and a carton of milk. The milk was surely spoiled, but I didn't have much of an appetite for the rest, so I closed the door to my apartment complex and lit a cigarette to stave off the hunger. Somehow I'd at least remembered to put on some pants, a jacket, and bring my keys. It's dark outside, so I was sure to not be disturbed by Rosa and Stella hunting me down, or anyone else disturbing me for that matter. My midnight smoke breaks with Fang were a memory of the past, even the more recent one with Lucy felt like an eternity ago. Time felt like it had lost meaning, events were just floating points of light in a fuzzy gloom threatening to fade it all out into nothing. The shower feels nice, can't remember the last time I took a shower, but it felt proper to at least not smell like a freshly defiled corpse when I went out. The morning sun peeked out from in between the highrises, putting a gentle orange tint on the city as it was waking up. The mid-day sun and fresh smell of flowers in the park were comforting as I sat on a bench relaxing, the last time I'd been here felt like lifetimes ago; well, it was in a different life after all. I sit on a bench, hearing the steady sounds of life rushing past me: families out in the pleasant weather, couples walking about on dates, disturbingly healthy meteor dodgers exercising on the patches of grass or running by on the dirt paths, and me sitting here breathing heavily with a cig in the corner of my mouth that I don't even remember lighting. I close my eyes, feel the light breeze on my face, then I open my eyes and it's dark outside as I'm entering the doors to a cinema. There's a ticket in my hand to the newest big-budget anime movie that I swear I've heard about, but I didn't know had been this close to releasing. Had time just rushed past so quickly I didn't notice? The movie is great, I make a mental note to rewatch the regular anime when I get home since the flashbacks added a lot of context to older scenes, recontextualizing a lot of the characters' previous actions. I couldn't really know if it was just a cheap trick to justify lazy writing, or if it was a planned stroke of genius with a fantastic payoff; but did it really matter when the intended effect worked out so well? I look at my phone to check the time, and I'm just about done with the last episode. I can't remember any of them. Looking at the produce in the store, I pondered on if I should even buy some vegetables since they kept going bad before I could do anything with them. Fresh meats went the same way, there wasn't any point in buying them just to throw them away since even if I had a bit of money saved I didn't feel like burning it all on throwing away edible food. So I stand by my stovetop, boiling a technicolor plastic brick of delicious weeb nourishment with some chives and a poached egg. I guess I did buy some chives, after all. Once I've put the pot off the heat, I look in the fridge to see what else I brought home; there are a few bottles of soda, chocolate bars, oats that I should put into a cupboard, some dried meats that could fit in the same cupboard, and a novelty keychain of Sailor Moon. I put all the things where they were supposed to be, including the keychain going into the trash, and take my meal over to the couch to look at something as I eat. I wake up with a beer can in my hand, the apartment halfway cleaned. It's bright and sunny outside, I think today is the day they're coming by at 3 pm to help me move, so I finish up the rest of the cleaning and celebrate my now sparkling abode by cracking open another bag-in-a-box and tapping a large glass of red to toast it in. Then I check my calendar and it's still a week away, fuck, I'd cleaned it for no reason. If I just sat down at my computer it would be all messed up again, and I'd have to clean it again. So I actually set up some more reminders, and calendar events to try and keep myself on track, try and keep some routines going so that I'd actually be able to leave this place. Too many memories, too much pain, too late to set things right. The pain and sorrow had seeped into the walls and drenched the floor; walking barefoot I could feel the lingering regret stick to my feet. Following the cracks in the ceiling, they eventually stretch over to the wall and in behind the poster we put up to hide the missing piece of plaster that had been gone since before I moved in. It was of Sailor Moon, tearing it down was a nice outlet, crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash. The pot starts boiling, so I add some pasta as I wait for the lentils to finish cooking, then I'm tossing out the trash. The corner store is basically empty, except for me and the owner, so we say our pleasantries and I pick out a soda, some cigs and a novelty hat. You needed a bit of fun in your life, right? When was the last time I really enjoyed myself? Was this all there is to life? The post button is clicked, the captcha is cleared, and the bait has been set. My computer turns itself off on its timer as I lay on my bed, the sun is rising outside. I looked around my room, and for the first time in a long while, I actually saw what was in front of me. A burrow filled with trash, where a sad and lonely man had been walling himself off against feeling the things he knew he should feel. So I took a stand when the mess was reaching my waist, I started to make a slow effort against the rising tides; combating the chaos with a few plastic bags for junk and some SNOOTKEA bags for laundry. Eventually, the room looked somewhat presentable, even if I knew it wouldn't be in any interior design magazines in the foreseeable future. I didn't want it to turn back into the grotesquely distorted version of the home we'd lovingly assembled a long while ago, so I set myself up on trying to straighten myself out, even just a little bit, to have my habits rule me in the best of ways instead of grinding me into mulch. I start waking up at seven and try to fall asleep around ten. At least I set alarms, even if I don't strictly adhere to that schedule every day. That way I could wake up from my nightmares, fall back asleep, and still be up in time to start my day. Go up, grab some breakfast, apply for some jobs in the same corner of the city that I would be moving to, watch an episode of the newest anime, lunch alarm rings so I make lunch, watch an episode as I eat, work out a bit, shower, head to the store just to go outside once a day, then head back home in time for dinner and another episode. Falling asleep on the couch or the bed if I was feeling like spoiling myself, then repeating it all over again with minor variations depending on my mood and what else needed to be done around this place. I'd sometimes check my email in the evenings to see if I had gotten any responses as far as jobs went, but nothing came in. Cleaning never became an issue, since I actively tried to not make a mess. I ate very little, used as few utensils as possible, didn't pig out leaving things just laying about but opting instead to put things away after I used them. Every now and then I had to dust, or go out with my recycling and trash, but not too often. You didn't really create much waste if you're just one person in a household. The move goes well, I can't remember the name of my buddy but he keeps me steady as they pack up my stuff and help me get going, this was it, I'd leave all of this behind and start anew; tabula fucking rasa. My phone starts ringing as we're standing around, so I take a step out into the hallway as they keep at their work of putting my entire existence into cardboard boxes. I pull it up, answering in pure reflex more than anything else now that the moving team's arrival had shocked me out of my vegetative state. "...ling you about my days like this makes it feel like back then, it was always good to share how our days went. I've been getti-" Click, it was about time to block the number. Wait, that was an alarm, and she could in no possible way have gotten access to my new number. My brain was back to pulling this kind of shit to me. I'd never be able to let go of my past traumas, would I? I'd just find new ones to get stuck on. I didn't want to go on like this, didn't want to have to fret and regret every single mistake I do. With closed eyes I rhythmically tap the phone against my forehead, an elegy to never having her on the phone again. But this was the fate I had been dealt, I could wallow in it, or try to change it. This was what I was going to have to deal with for the rest of my life, either way. So I'll just block the number and move on. Moving my stuff into the truck goes fast, but the packing process takes ages. I have to micromanage them wrapping up my gunplas, my figurines, and my models, since they accidentally decapitated my poor idol against the corner of the shelf before I started watching them like a hawk. Why did I even have this much junk... At least it was still mostly cool shit, even if I knew 99% of the general population would get an aneurysm if I tried to explain in detail why exactly there needed to be five different gunpla posing in formation to make my lore-accurate diorama accurate. I dropped off my keys at the landlord, having already made a deal with him that he would get it cleaned out post-move if he got to keep the small deposit I'd made when I moved in. They let me ride along in the truck, as we drive through the city. I'm glad I didn't have to walk there myself, even if I had a license I hadn't bothered with getting a car yet since everything was so easy getting to on a bike or through commuting. We'd talked about it; the environmental impact, the costs, the need for service, and time spent changing tires and whatnot. The consensus was that it wasn't really worth it unless you had kids and you could share a ride to work, kindergarten, or school. I guess there wouldn't be any reason to get one now. Maybe there never would be. Then I'm in a new apartment, my new apartment, with a couple of sturdy fellows unpacking boxes as I direct them on where everything should be. Kitchenware in the kitchen, but the most well-used things go on the bottom shelf so that she can reach them more easily. The living room is fairly easy to set up, couch, tv, and consoles are arranged perfectly, then the bedroom is filled with my nice super king-size bed, wide enough so that we'd both fit with room to spare, especially when her tail was flailing about as she dreamt. However, none of that mattered now, did it. Then I'm all alone in my new apartment, again. Go to the shop, get some food, and get the routine going again. The first day flies by quickly. It ends with me sitting on my new balcony, and I'm currently on my third cig. Rosa would have killed me should she have known how bad I was treating my body. The city is nice and quiet, the veil of night has been draped over the busy hive. Streetlights and faraway neon signs were the only things struggling against the blackness of the late hours. This far away from the inner city, the stars were faintly visible on a cloudless night such as this one. It was calming to look upon the dark and moonless skies, faraway stars burning ever so faintly and struggling to even be seen against the light pollution of the city. My mind had finally started to clear, I even remembered how today had started; my phone alarm rang at 7 a.m. whereupon I got up, made some oatmeal and a pot of coffee, then proceeded through my morning routine. The move. Routines helped break the slog through the acrid mist, and helped bring focus and something sturdy to lean on when I once again started to drift away. I'm now on my fifth cig, I'd have to go down and buy another pack tomorrow. Or, well, today, seeing how it's right past midnight now. A single jogger passes by down on the street, disappearing and reappearing in between the concentrated cones of light that the streetlights were giving off. A triceratops in a hoodie, running around at this time? Must be the evening shift that just got off, or some moron that wanted to get the maximum amount of exercise in on every given day. Sucker. It stirs something in me, a thought: it had been a long time since I spoke to Trish, I hadn't even kept track of her on any social media and she could be anywhere now, even if she probably wasn't running past my balcony at this hour. Curiosity gets the best of me, so I let my cig rest on its own in the corner of my mouth as I pull out my phone, tapping away at the screen with both thumbs. Snootstagram was already installed, so I logged into my dummy account and searched for Trish, finding a hit within the first twenty or so accounts. What was I even planning on doing? Check out how her life was going then come crashing in all over again? Send a follow, send a message, pretend like it would all be good? My dummy account wouldn't reveal who I am even if she'd checked it out, but deep down I knew that she would know it was me. She had me figured out back then before I even knew who I was, and she'd figure me out now too. The doxxing might have been exactly what I needed to understand the damage I'd been causing to their group, even if I didn't see what I was doing back then. I deserved it after everything I did at the beach, even if the punishment had been meted out before the crime. Trish cared for Fang more than anyone else ever could, even if she'd misdirected her efforts of protecting her to an insane degree. If Trish had just talked to me, if we'd worked together for the sake of them all, maybe it wouldn't have... Scratching the back of my head with one hand, as I ponder reconnecting to a person that had hated me about a decade ago, and probably still hated me, it felt liberating knowing that I'd already reached rock bottom. Having Trish pissed at me wouldn't bring any change to my current life, I was just drifting about in the current now. Being on one more shitlist wouldn't matter. Is there even anything I can do for Trish at this point? I put the phone back on the table, I'd been blowing smoke out of my nostrils but now the cig needed to be ashed. Tapping it with my finger as I hold it over the ashtray, I see the jogger round a corner and disappear from view. That's how life goes, people appear out of nowhere, and then people round corners only to disappear just as fast as they appear. Wait, how would Trish know it was me if I had nothing to my name? I might have to break my habit of being a faceless ghost, so I opened my phone gallery; perhaps there was some way to prove it there, without doxxing myself? Well, I try to open my phone gallery but something stops my thumb from pushing the small square on the screen. The tiny foreboding voice in the back of my head tells me that all the pictures of me also have Stella in them, group photos, convents, anime nights, and weird Snootstagram filters. Videos of us two, hanging out. All of a sudden I felt so incredibly tired, all the weight of the world being put onto my shoulders once again as memories of me and Stella flooded back; I could deal with a lot of things tonight, but not that. Not her. Not again. It would be better to log in on my old proper account on Snootstagram, the one she had forced me to create, to send a message. I'd disabled it a while ago even if I can't really remember why, but I did it long before all of this happened. Every now and then I'd just feel like disappearing, running away from everything; to not have anyone staring me down. The same Anon I had been back in school was still here, not wanting to be put into the limelight where he could be exposed and hurt. What was the point of hiding away if you still got hurt? Might as well take a chance. The app lights up, showing me the home screen and all the missed notifications that await me. I didn't need to open them to know who'd sent me all those. But it was Trish I was doing this for, not Stella. I can't stay in the past, so why the fuck not try something I'd never do normally. I navigate my way back to Trish's profile, and press the 'send message' icon: "Hey, Trish, it's Anon! How are you doing these days? I met Lucy the other day, she's got a family and kids now!" Pause. Breather. Rush of nicotine. Continue. "It would be good to meet up sometime, talk about what's been going on in our lives. I hope you're doing well." Another drag. Continue. "I'm sorry for back then." After all, I couldn't make things any worse than they already were. I put my phone away, and turn off the sound. This was an issue for tomorrow's Anon to solve, the poor bastard. Somewhere out there in the city, I knew Rosa and Stella were going about their daily lives. It felt oddly comforting, to have them keep at it still. I didn't wish them harm, now that I'd gone back to living a somewhat normal life. Rosa and her family had been good to me, I wished them the best. Stella was... Stella had been... Better not finish that thought. At least I knew that I wanted her happy, in some weird way. That's how unconditional love works, I guess, wanting the best for those you care about even after they're gone from your life. Even after all the fuckups and mistakes they subject you to. I couldn't even imagine how the rest of her life would be, should that have been the last time I ever spoke to her. The alarm wakes me up at 7a.m., I turn on the coffee maker that I had set up yesterday and put my oatmeal in the microwave. Turning on the radio, some shitty nu-pop nonsense was running on repeat like it always did, but at least it was somewhat bearable now that I'd found a channel that was moving more toward experimental music in between the worst mainstream songs, even playing some vidya tunes every now and then from listener commissions. Some of those commissions might have been from me. Waiting on my breakfast to prepare itself, I head back to my bedside table for my phone, catching my reflection on the dark screen before I unlock it. This Anon didn't look too bad, he was leagues away from the man living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland of an apartment just a few weeks ago; even if I still needed a shave before I could even consider going outside. I click the lock button to wake the screen, ready to type in my password when I see it. Snootstagram: 3 messages A cold sweat breaks out, sending a singular drop down my forehead. Fuck you, Anon of yesterday, I know what you've gone and done, you cunt. Is it too late to throw the phone out the window and buy a new one? Is it too late to open the window before throwing it, or could I afford another one? Time was of the essence, with luck she'd think I was still asleep since I was up late yesterd- Snootstagram: 4 messages SHIT. TOO LATE. Snootstagram: 5 messages FUCK. Snootstagram: 6 messages Wait, this was past Anon's behavior. The older, wiser, Anon would simply accept his fate. Talk it out with Trish, to see what they could still make of their relationship. Snootstagram: 7 messages FUCKING DAMNIT. Go to hell, new Anon with your new healthy lifestyle and view on relationships. Here I go. Unlocking the phone instantly reveals the Snootstagram chat window and marks all messages as 'read'. Anon of yesterday was a dick. "Hey Anon! Holy shit, it's been a long time since last I heard from you." "I've been doing good, life's been kind to me. Working as a music teacher now, wbu?" "About back then; we were kids. I don't blame you, and I hope you don't still blame me." "A lot happened." "I don't want it to stay forever." "I've been talking to Lucy too, she got back in contact with me a few weeks ago. She mentioned that she'd met you." "Would you want to meet up? It would be fantastic to talk to you again." Dots dance at the bottom, she's also awake. Doesn't seem like there's any need to panic, so I await her final message before I start replying. This didn't feel like the Trigga I knew back then, had she changed that much? How much had I changed, in comparison? Was I much different from the Anon back in high school? Trish's response appears on my screen: "Hope you've been doing well." Anon of yesterday, I guess you did us both a service, so I won't hate you as much, for now. I type out a reply: "I'm doing well now, just moved to a new apartment! Would be great to meet up, you got anywhere you want to go? I still live in Volcadera, albeit on the outskirts. Far from Skin Row." The truth was hidden in the details; I was actually doing well now, for the first time in months, but before that... I didn't want to talk about the bad, though, I'd rather focus on the good parts and meet an old friend to talk about our lives and what we've been up to. The good parts. "Congrats on the new apartment!(?) You're still in Volcadera? I've moved out, but I don't mind coming over this weekend if you're free? Saturday afternoon, show me your new place?" Huh. She'd go back here just to meet me? This felt... Nice. I felt wanted, in some weird way; someone wanted to meet me and put effort into doing so. I'd better do this well: "The apartment's great, so no worries! You're more than welcome this Saturday; lunch? I know how to cook something other than ramen now, so don't worry." "Lunch sounds great. I'm off for work, talk to you later!" Trish was coming over on Saturday. Trish. That Trish. Wait, what day is it today? Checking my phone again reveals that today is Thursday, so in two days' time Trish would be coming over for lunch. The Trish that I haven't seen for a decade, that hated my guts back then. The Trish that had doxxed me and wanted me dead. Well, if I had to die, being mauled in an apartment this nice wouldn't be too bad; I could even put on some good tunes to bleed out to. Better put out a plastic cover for the floor too, to facilitate cleaning up the blood. "Looking forward to it, Trish!"