I dialed Joey's number right after reading his group message.
A soft muffled salutation answered the phone.
"Hello?" I asked, confused. "Joey?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you really crying?"
"Yeah."
I slid my back against my door, shutting it tightly for the night and taking a seat on my carpet, "Holy shit," I whispered.
Joey, the popular one people gave a shit about. He was crying. He missed us -- me.
"Well... I love you, too."
YOU ARE READING
Speechless
Short StoryI'm unwanted, unloved, ugly and a lot of other things that begin with the letter "U." So read the horrible truth of my unfolding and inevitable insanity. Because I don't give a fuck anymore. No one does. So what's the point? Non-Fiction #21 [24. May...
