I thought you were coming home this week?
I didn't open the message, it was enough to even have to see it in the preview. I thought I was coming home this week, too. I could never tell her why I wasn't coming home. I could barely tell myself why I wasn't coming home.
Its not my choice, mom.
I could never ignore my mother. Not because I have some honorary moral code where I respect her too much, its just because I literally cannot ignore her. She will keep texting until I respond.
Its him, isn't it?
Of course it was him. Everything I do is for him.But she doesn't have any business knowing I still associate with him.
No, mom. I have to go. Love you.
I wouldn't have to see the next disgruntled message if I shoved my phone in my pocket, so following that logic, I shoved it as far as it would sit in my back pocket.
Speaking of him, where was he?
It was almost noon when he left, and its nearly sixty-thirty now. Actually, what he does in his free time is better left unspoken of. He isn't exactly your model citizen.
I pulled my phone out again, careful to leave the preview of her messages untouched. What I don't see can't hurt me, right?
Where are you? You've been gone all day.
Its hopeful to think he would ever respond to texts.
Its strange to think that my life could have been normal, that somewhere along the line, I could have been a little less curious; I could have been a little more intelligent and a little less naïve and been in a much different situation now.
I left my family to keep his secret. I left all known civilization to protect him.
I left everything I knew to embrace everything he knew, and I did it dutifully.
And I would do it again.
