how to catch feelings

93

"Sorry about my roommates. So how's it going?" I slid out of bed to grab a granola bar and my meds while I waited for his response.

Still nothing when I checked my phone a minute later.

Ugh.

I had my breakfast and then wandered downstairs.

I opened the blinds to let the light in and was greeted with the sight of a good foot of snow outside.

"Ope."

Maybe I'd just layer up and go for a walk. Get some fresh air.

Then I laughed.

As if the biting chill would be worth it.

Nah, fam.

Back upstairs I went.

Still no text from Cole.

Okay. Fine. That was fine. Maybe he was still asleep. Yeah. That was probably it.

I climbed back in bed with my laptop, figuring now was as good a time as any to knock out a little bit of homework.

One of my professors had assigned another stupid reading response, though little did they know I only skimmed the chapters for the headings and subheadings, making crap up to meet the word count.

Couldn't be bothered to actually do the reading.

And even if I had been, my brain was too wired to actually sit still long enough.

Why wasn't he texting back?

Was he still asleep?

Or was it something I'd said? Something I'd done?

Was it my roommates?

Was I just absolutely crazy to think he'd want to talk to me if he was having a bad day?

For fuck's sake, Nat, he just sees you as a friend. So grow the fuck up and knock it off with all the daydreaming and the drama, okay? Just knock it off.

***

The next few weeks really dragged by.

Cole seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth— he didn't respond to any of my Tik Toks so I stopped sending them, he wouldn't answer texts so I stopped texting, he never seemed to be at the gym so I stopped looking.

Valentine's Day came and went, not that I'd been expecting this one to be any different from all the ones in years past.

Well, okay. Maybe I'd dared to hope for a minute.

His radio silence pressed on my ears and heart all day every day.

It was like losing a friend, honestly.

Which I guess is a horrible comparison given the events of the school year, but it is what it is.

And what it was... it was me, alone again.

The closer we got to spring break, the more zoned out I was in class, the more robotic I was at newspaper meetings.

Get in, get it done, get out.

And do it again and again.

I was counting down the weeks until the end of the semester. Summer.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Damaris asked.

They were going out to see a movie.

"No, I'm good... I have some newspaper stuff to sort out." I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

"Alright. Suit yourself. Hey, if we stop at Culver's afterwards, do you want anything?"

"No thanks."

"'Kay. Text if you change your mind."

"Yeah."

Meg and Damaris left. One of them locked the door.

In truth, I didn't exactly have much to do for the newspaper. Spring break was a week away, and we were essentially taking two weeks off from journalism. No point in putting an issue on the stands when no one would be here to pick them up, no point in assigning stories when no one would be here to write them.

I was just trying to get ahead on the orientation issue, sorting out what stories needed to be updated, which ones replaced entirely. What kind of space we were working with for ads. What page layouts could stand to be freshened up.

I made to mark up an article, and my pen tore right through the page.

Fuck.

It didn't really matter in the grander scheme of things, but in the moment it felt like the last straw.

Everything was going to hell in a handbasket.

"Frick, frick, frick," I muttered under my breath.

I smoothed the page out, like that would magically heal it.

Yeah, no.

My hand strayed toward my phone— no. No.

Oh, what the hell.

I opened up Facebook Messenger and shot Cole another text, the first one in over a week.

"This is all just a giant dumpster fire."

Immediately after I sent it, I wished I hadn't.

You fucking idiot, I thought, flipping my phone over and hurrying upstairs.

Curling up on my bed, I felt suddenly sick to my stomach.

I heard my phone buzz on the table downstairs.

Fricking frick.

I went back down for my phone. Crouching on the chair, I hit the home button to unlock.

"I can stop by," he said.

"Frick, frick, frick!" I stumbled from the chair to the floor.

Leaning against the wall, I dropped my head on my knees. I was going to pass out or throw up or both or something.

My phone buzzed again.

"Natalie."

"Fricking hell!" I kicked my phone away.

Why was I so stupid? Why'd I have to go and text him? Bring him into this? And why the fuck was he responding now? After three weeks of ghosting me? What the fuck?

I burst into shallow sobs, hiding my face in my hands.

Frick, frick, frick, frick, frick, Natalie, what the hell were you thinking?

When my tears subsided, I reached for my phone again. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I opened his last message.

"On my way."

Friiiick.

"You don't have to," I said. "Really. I'm good now. I promise."

His status switched to inactive without him even seeing my texts.

Well. That was it. I was a goner.

There was a knock on the door, and my heart launched itself up into my throat.

*** ***