In a neutral, here's a text message kind of way.
I take forever reaching for it.
It's not from Lily. Of course it's not. She isn't ready to talk. Which is totally understandable. Really. Lying here for an hour, staring at the ceiling, poring over every one of my past mistakes…
I understand.
It's an unfortunate reality, one of those things I can't change, like traffic or taxes or weather.
The sun is going to shine tomorrow. UCLA is going to be a clusterfuck. And I have to wait until my sister is ready to trust me.
Walker: What are you up to?
It's pure booty call. But then it's not. He always starts his texts like this.
Iris: Giving up on studying.
Walker: To?
Cry in the dark by myself.
Iris: I haven't decided.
Walker: You want some company?
Iris: That's a complicated question.
Walker: You say that a lot.
Iris: They all are. There are too many factors. Company is nice, especially yours. But it means giving up the peace of solitude.
Walker: Are you okay?
Iris: No.
Walker: Have you been drinking?
Iris: Do I sound drunk?
Walker: A little.
Iris: No. Just thinking.
Walker: You're being weird.
Iris: How can you tell in a text?
Walker: I can.
Iris: I guess I'm a little worn out.
Walker: What happened, sweetness?
Iris: I called Lily.
Walker: Oh.
Iris: Yeah.