Sam.
I decide to take a walk. Take a breather. I feel like crap.
I feel my blood
boiling.
My shoes drag across the sidewalk, chafing the black tip. I'm slouched; I feel worse than I was before. Hands in worn pockets and head tucked conveniently into my chin.
Dull gray houses line the street in symmetrical lines. Same design row through row.
I should've stayed in bed. This is depressing.
I still feel like crap.
I should've gone back to making damn snow angels on my carpet and doing absolutely nothing. That's way better than walking like a freaking, comical zombie.
My phone buzzes again.
I stop walking.
Can't you just turn it off?
She's not going to answer
because you never sent anything.
You were selfish.
It's an email.
+++++
It's a reply to the emails that I drafted. The damn thing literally said that it was sent to the draft box.
No kidding.
To: Sam23@gmail.com
From: Livvy38@gmail.com
Subject:
It's not your fault, Sam.
YOU ARE READING
Emails
Teen FictionAfter the falling out of a relationship between Sam and Liv, both have gone their separate ways. While Liv is trying to forget what happened, Sam is constantly drafting emails that either are too insensitive, or too pathetic. Emails are piling up in...
