Until

Chapter 4

BLAKE: ONE YEAR, FOUR MONTHS BEFORE

"I really think you should go," Johnathon says through the speaker of my laptop. 

"I don't know. He's a senior. He's graduating soon, and then what? God, listen to me. I sound like one of those dumb high school freshman all worked up over a senior leaving them for college," I tell him, placing my laptop on the dresser and walking over to fold the laundry that has been sat in the basket for three days now.

"B, it's not like you're marrying him. It's one date. Hell, maybe a night in the sack. I think sex could be good for you, you're so irritable all the time," he says, earning a glare.

"Besides," he continues, "it's Friday night, and what are you doing while your roommate is out of town? Oh, yes, of course. FaceTime'ing me, just like you have been for the last three hours."

"I can't just call him and tell him I've changed my mind," I say, "It's too late."

I hang up a shirt and run my fingers through my hair. Maybe he's right. Maybe I should have gone.

"So you told him no already?" 

"No, I didn't exactly tell him no..." 

"Dammit, girl, if you don't tell me the whole story, I will come through this screen and-" Johnathon starts, but my laughter stops him from going on.

"Alright, alright," I begin, "I was in the practice room, and he slipped a piece of notebook paper under the door. It said something like- hold on, let me find it."

I search the room for the slip of paper, and I find it in the back pocket of the jeans I wore today.

"Alright, it says, 'Didn't want to barge in and take your space, but I want to get to know you. Let me take you out tonight? Text me.' And then there's a phone number," I tell Johnathon.

"Right, so you texted him and said what?" he asks.

"I didn't," I tell him.

"See? It's not too late. Plus, it's only eight," he encourages me.

"Yeah, but don't you think it's a little weird? I mean, we literally have only spoken to each other once. We never see each other on campus, and then he just decides to slip a note under a practice room that he 'gave to me' two weeks after we met there? How did he even know I was in there?" I ask, making sense of the points I make as I make them.

"Maybe he's stalking you," John says and I roll my eyes, "Or maybe he just hoped that you would be there. You said yourself those rooms are nearly impossible to find. Maybe he knew that and assumed no one else would find them. Maybe he thought he would slip it under there and if you weren't there then, you would be eventually."

"Yeah, maybe." I say.

"Just text him. What harm will it do? Send me your location and I'll keep an eye on you and make sure you don't get abducted. Just text him," he convinces me.

"Fine. Fine, I'll text him. What do I even say? What do I even wear? Dammit, no. I'm not doing it."

"Bake. Pull yourself together and stop overthinking it. Just text him 'hey' and see where it goes," he says. He always knows how to pull me back from the deep end when I implode, and for that, I love him so much. I miss him, but talking to him makes it so much easier. He runs his fingers through his blonde hair and adjusts his black sweatshirt. 

"Okay," I tell him, "Alright."

I get my phone and copy the number from the slip of paper. I decide to take Johnathon's advice and just say "Hey."