Friendzoned (A Joey Graceffa Fan Fiction)

Chapter 23: Not even a text?

Chapter 23 (JOEY POV):

It's been a week since Katie left and I still haven't heard anything from her.

I call Katie, it goes to voicemail.

I text Katie, "Hey, how's everything been going so far? Miss you here."

No answer.

- the next day -

I call Katie, she doesn't answer. I call her again and leave her a voicemail, "Hey Katie! Call me back. I miss you. Hope everything's okay."

No answer.

- one week later-

I text Katie, "Hey Katie, how's the UK?"

No answer.

Ugh. Why is she not answering?

- two weeks later -

I call Katie again. Voicemail. "Come on, pick up Kate!"

- three weeks later -

I text Katie, "Fine. I get it. You don't want to talk. I'll leave you alone now."

I need to move on already. It's nearly been a month, it's hopeless. She would've called, or at least, texted me by now.

- - -

KATIE POV:

- 2 months later -

*10* Missed Calls from Joey Graceffa.

*12* Text Messages from Joey Graceffa.

God, I miss him so much. I feel like such an ass for not answering. I don't think I'm ready to hear what he has to say.

I turn my phone off and look down at my bracelet, running my fingers over the cold metal plate that reads, "be mine". I take a deep breath and slouch back in my hotel bed.

I decide I need to go out and clear my head. I'm in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I am not going to lay around in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself and wondering what would've happened with me and Joey. It's been a month, everything happens for a reason.

I need to move on and that's exactly what this trip is for. A fresh start.

I walk out of the hotel lobby and take a right noting where I'm passing so I can find my way back to the hotel. I don't speak French or know my way around France so I have to pay close attention to my surroundings. I walk for a little bit along this main road until I see a small little cafe to my right in walking distance from the Eiffel Tower.

When you walk in there are some couches, high tables, and barstools that look out the window. I walk around to the counter to order a coffee and the man greets me, "Bonjour!" and then he says something else in French that I don't understand.

"Umm.. a... latte?"

The man laughs and says, "I'm assuming you don't speak French."

"Haha, no. I'm sorry! Not a problem, that will be one latte and we'll bring it over to your seat."

"Ok, thank you."

Most of the tables are occupied by couples or people sitting alone who didn't look like they want to be disturbed so I seat on one of the creaky barstools and look out the window at the Tower.

The man comes over with my coffee, "Here you go."

As I reply, "Thank you," I hear little chimes going off meaning someone just walked in. A man about my age and almost 6 feet tall walks over to the main counter. He looks American because he has a pale, yet slightly tanned, complexion with brown hair and blue eyes. He kind of looks like a California kind of guy. I turn away and look back out the window.