a corrupt guardian angel.
Those protective instincts kick back in, rearing up with the urge to bust down her front door and stand between her and the world.
Fourteen
Thea
Sitting in the middle of my bed, armed with my stuffed sea lion, I’m throwing a pity party. I can’t kick the down and dirty feeling. It’s clung to me all day, ever since Mr. Coleman found Connor and I in a compromising position.
One where I was definitely about to kiss him.
How can I want to kiss my bully after all the crap he’s put me through?
He’s blackmailing you, girl!
My inner voice of reason sounds like Maisy today and I nod in miserable agreement. “I know.”
But I did want that kiss. I would have thrown away my first on a fake, though, and that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s a good thing Mr. Coleman showed up when he did.
I flip my phone in my hands a few times, playing with the cupcake grip on the back. Messaging him has been on my mind, or at least reading back through it all. I think I’m ready to see it now.
“Right.”
Taking a breath, I unlock my phone and scroll to the beginning.
After weeks of talking to him, the first photo I sent seems so tame. As I skim through the message history, my body warms up, my clit throbbing when I get to one of his dirtier messages.
Can’t stop thinking about those sweet sounds you make. You make my cock so hard, I want to bury it in you so deep you’ll never get me out, baby. Just you and me, fused together. How does forever sound to you?
“Oof,” I mumble, cheeks on fire. “The boy knows how to use his words.”
But I did, too. I thought it might make me cringe to read it back, knowing it was Connor on the other side of the screen, but some of it surprises me. Secret Folder Girl showed up, confident, aware of what she wanted. Talking to him like this—well, having phone sex—was easier.
I keep expecting my phone to ping. That’s been the weirdest part in the madness of the last two days. I got used to anticipating his messages, got excited at the notification sound on my phone. But he’s kept his word, leaving it to me to text him first.
It was hard enough to work up the courage to text Wyatt. I don’t know what to say knowing I have to face him at school, that he’s right next door.
What I need is familiar. Comforting. Safe.
I need to know I can walk away for a minute without someone like Connor breathing down my neck. Tossing my phone aside, I lean over to grab my laptop from the end of the bed and drag it over. Once it’s loaded, I go to my old blog.
The beauty of posting these pictures was that I didn’t know who was on the other side of the screen. It was an escape. The distance and sense of anonymity are what gave me the courage to be this version of myself, where I could experiment with the girl in my secret folder without judgement because no one knew me in person to realize how different I was in reality.
How much I fall short of the mark.
A comment on the second post catches my eye. It’s from two days ago, but the last time I posted to this blog was years ago. “What?”
Missing these intelligent eyes and talking to you. Where have you gone, love? Do you miss me, too? I dream of finding you, coming to steal you away for the whirlwind romance the world has to offer you. It’s me, I’m your world. If I held out my hand, would you take it? The thought consumes me.
Clicking on the other posts, I find a new one on each of them. It’s the same username. Henry_Your_GoodKnight.
It’s him. My old online boyfriend.
Mixed feelings swirl through me. It gives me a sense I’m wanted, desired, seen. But at the same time, there’s something about the comments that makes my blood run cold and my heart beat faster.
Time has given me a different perspective on the nature of these comments. He was only a few years older, but still. The age I was in these photos and when I was enthralled with our late night emails? A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck and I work to swallow past my dry throat.
Opening a new tab, I find the folder