One More Text
I loved being home alone, so I wasn’t uneasy when Dad left for his honeymoon.
“Here’s the house key, darling, in case you need to go out anytime.” his wife told me, as they both stood in the doorway, their luggage already in the car.
“Don’t need it. I already have one, remember?”
She dropped it into my hand, ignoring my cold stare. “Nonsense. It’s always good to have an extra key.”
Dad stepped forward to tousle my bob of brown hair, messing it up completely even though he knew I hated that, then kiss my forehead.
“You be good, Ariana, alright? Just hold the fort down for a few nights without hosting a party.” he winked. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I said.
When they had finally turned to leave, arms linked, I slammed the front door and locked it behind them. This was my house now.
I felt free; I felt confidant and responsible.
But that was Friday night.
I collapsed into the living room couch after switching the TV on. I found my favorite Friday night show, then pulled my phone out of my pocket to text Sydney.
Can’t believe I’m being ditched so Dad can go on his stupid honeymoon with his stupid new wife, I sent.
I waited several minutes, watching my show, before I heard my best friend replying.
Ur lucky tho! He trusts u, got whole house 2 urself, it read.
Why can’t you come?
U crazy? It’s like 8. Mom n Dad won’t let me outta my room! She sent a picture of her sitting on her bed, rolling her eyes.
I almost laughed. What are you, 6?
U no they strict, kay, so don’t judge.
We talked on about the TV show I was watching, and how much we missed summer already, before the discussion came around to our school’s new transfer student. He had come from another high school a full two weeks after school had started up, which seemed unusual.
Of course, with Sydney, the teasing wouldn’t stop. Even at school, she had already started calling me “Brian’s girl”, just because I’d tried to be nice to him once and invite him to eat lunch with us. He hadn’t even accepted. And later, anyways, he’d started to gain the reputation of being weird and clingy, so I wouldn’t ask him to again.
It was another couple hours or so before Sydney had to leave, and again I felt good about being able to stay up for as long as I wanted. I checked the time. 10:17. Eventually I got bored with TV and started scrolling through my Instagram. I noticed a muted notification had popped up while I’d been talking to Sydney. ‘Brian.K.001 commented on your photo’.
It couldn’t be that Brian, could it? There were lots of Brian’s. I tapped the notification and was taken to a photo I recognized to be an old one. It was of me, then fourteen, taking a selfie after getting my hair cut into a bob for the first time.
The sixth comment on my photo read: “It was a good choice. So beautiful.”
Why is this guy commenting on a two-year-old photo?
I got to Brian.K.001’s profile and took a closer look at his profile picture.
That’s him, alright. I thought.
I would know that long, wavy hair and those steely blue eyes anywhere. But based on what I’d heard about Brian, looks could be deceiving. The people on Instagram must have known that, too, because Brian didn’t have many followers. He hadn’t posted any photos yet, either.
The next second, I felt terrible. He was just the new kid, and nervous about making friends. I decided to follow him and turn that pathetic ‘3’ into a ‘4’. If anyone from my school found out I was following him, I would explain it was only because I felt sorry for him, and not because we were friends.
Then I replied to Brian’s comment with a “thanks” and a winky face emoji, feeling like a perfect saint.
After scrolling through Instagram some more, then Facebook, I dropped my phone on the couch and stood up. I ransacked the kitchen for a bit before returning with pop and a bag of chips, ready to binge-watch a few Netflix shows.
My phone’s screen was on. Another notification.
I picked it up to see it was from Instagram again. ‘Brian.K.001 commented on your photo’.
I raised my eyebrow at it. When I tapped the notification, it took me right back to that same two-year-old photo.
“No, thank YOU,” Brian had said.
I stared. I read it over and over. Then I powered down my phone completely, tossed it to the other side of the couch, and set Netflix up.
My uneasiness melted away once I’d gotten into my favorite shows, and it was almost 1:30am the next time I glanced up at the living room clock.
One more episode, I told myself.
And now the clock read 2:43.
I forced myself to show some self-restraint and get ready for bed.
The house was unbearably quiet, the only sound being my bare feet against the tile floors and carpets, as I stuck my phone into my back pocket and made sure the doors and windows were locked, and all the blinds drawn. Then I trudged upstairs into my bedroom, turning off all the lights as I went.
Right as I was changing into my summer pajamas, I remembered to turn my phone back on in case Dad wanted to call me.
The Instagram notifications were waiting, crowding my lock screen.
Eyes wide, I skimmed over them. ‘Brian.K.001 liked your photo’. ‘Brian.K.001 commented on your post’. Brian….Brian…..Brian…..
Then I started over, this time counting.
I ended with the number 36.
Not knowing whether to be glad or freaked out, I stared. I slowly sat down on my bed and kept staring. Soon a new notification popped up, and I didn’t want to read it.
‘Brian.K.001 followed you’.
After a few moments of silence, I tapped his avatar and was taken to his profile again. Then, quickly before I could change my mind, I unfollowed him and blocked his account.
Weirdo.
The next morning I woke up to my phone ringing. Groaning, I threw myself out of bed and felt around the room, following the sound. I found my phone on the floor and picked up.
“…Hey?”
“Hey there, sleepyhead.”
“Hi Dad.”
“Morning! So, the house on fire yet?”
“Ha, ha.”
I dragged my feet out of the bedroom and down the stairs as he lectured me about going to bed at ‘a good time’ and I assured him that I had been in my bed by midnight.
I found myself in the kitchen, Dad telling me about how great whatever city they were in was, and how much the hotel had to offer, while I made lots of cooking noises, toppling the stack of dishes in the sink, then opening and closing cabinets.
When he finally hung up, I couldn’t find the cereal. I was upset at first, but then an evil grin spread across my face. I picked my phone back up and ordered pizza.
I waited about fifteen minutes, still in my pajamas and watching TV, before the doorbell rang. I greeted the pizza delivery guy and traded my own money for a gooey, cheesy pizza that filled the whole living room with a smell I can only describe as temptation.
I heard my phone beep as I set the pizza on the living room coffee table. I knew it wasn’t Instagram this time, because I had muted those notifications — and definitely not from Brian. So, expecting to hear from Sydney, I grabbed the phone.
The text was from an unknown number.
‘Hi, Ariana. What’s your favorite kind of pizza?’
That feeling was back again. I dismissed it as paranoia and decided to reply.
Who is this?
I only had to wait a few seconds.
Oh, it’s Brian. Brian.K.001, the transfer student.
Huh.
I sat back, feeling something like ice shoot up my spine.
It didn’t take long for it to hit me. Sydney. I didn’t know how or when she had given him my number, but we were going to have a little talk about it later.
I heard my phone beep again.
Why did you block me?
Because you were being weird, I replied. I’m sorry. But it freaks people out when you keep liking their old stuff on Insta. Like, ALL their old stuff. Creepy.
The answer came seconds later. Sorry.
And there was the guilt, yanking me around by my heartstrings. It’s okay. Just please don’t text me anymore.
Then I deleted the conversation on my texting app and let out a deep sigh of relief. I wasn’t going to let this bother me.
I glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too early to call Sydney. But I already knew the answer. I waited another hour or two, watching TV and enjoying my pizza, before dialing her number.
“Hello?” came her groggy voice after four rings.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Sorry to disturb your century-long slumber.”
“Ariana, I swear to god one day I’ll kill you.”
I laughed. “Hey, I got woken up the same way. By my Dad.”
There were some shuffling sounds. “Then you should know that it sucks. Oh my god, I was having the best dream ever and you ruined it.”
“You might as well get up. You have some explaining to do.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. I’m mad at you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I mean Brian, of course! I understand you couldn’t have known how creepy he is, but anyways you know I hate giving out my number. So you can’t just give it to any boy who asks without my permission.”
There was silence on the other end.
“I’ll still forgive you,” I added.
“…Ariana, I don’t get it. I swear I never gave Brian your number.” She sounded serious, genuine.
I froze. “…Then…who did? Because he was just…”
Sydney was the only girl in school I had given my number to. She was the only one I actually texted and called — everyone else communicated through Snapchat or Facebook. And I couldn’t think of any boy I’d given my number to in the last year, either.
My heart sank.
“You mean Brian was texting you? Straight to your number?”
“Yeah! And don’t start teasing about it because he’s a freak! Right before that, he was liking all my Instagram stuff, no joke, so I blocked him. And now he’s texting me! I told him off, but still! Is there a way someone can get your number through Instagram?”
“I don’t think so. Not unless you’re buddies and someone just tells you through direct messaging.”
Silence.
“That is kinda clingy and stuff but…y’know, he’s the new kid. You can’t blame him too much if he turns out to be socially incapable.” Sydney said. “Ha. Big word.”
“I guess.”
“So hey, maybe he got one of his friends to tell him. I mean, there’s no other way someone could get your number. He probably got one of the guys you used to date to tell him. Or something like that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So don’t worry about it. Maybe just ask him.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“…If it’s going to keep bothering you…I’ll ask him. I’ll deal with it, ‘kay? Give me his number and I’ll call him today, soon as I can.”
“I just deleted him.”
“Then just go to the ‘deleted numbers’ tab or whatever it’s called.”
So I found his number recorded on my phone’s texting app, and repeated it to Sydney as she wrote it down in her bedroom.
“Thanks a lot. You’re the best.” I said.
“No prob.”
“Bye.”
“…Bye.”
We hung up. I was standing in the living room, staring at the walls. This was crazy. This was ridiculous.
My phone beeped.
The screen was on.
Hey beautiful.
I glared at that message as if it had just insulted me instead of saying something generally sweet. The annoying thing was, even if I had deleted him in my contacts and was no longer able to send him messages, he could still have me in his contacts, send something, and start a whole new chat room.
STOP TEXTING ME. I sent.
I didn’t wait for the answer. I threw my phone back to the other side of the couch and set it into my mind ignore each and every notification. If Sydney wanted to contact me in the next 24 hours, she would have to call.
About an hour passed as I switched from TV to Netflix and back, wanting to scroll through Facebook and Instagram sometimes but stopping myself. And every ten minutes or so, the phone would beep with a new message. I couldn’t focus on what I was watching. I wondered what Brian was saying, and wanted so badly to tell him off some more. But he was looking for a response.
I was almost going to mute my phone completely, but then it rang.
I put it on speaker phone before answering, so I could hear over the TV.
“Hello?”
“Hey Ariana.”
This wasn’t Sydney’s voice. It wasn’t Dad’s voice, either. But it was a familiar one.
“Brian?”
“I have a suggestion for y — ”
“For the love of god, will you just leave me a — ”
“Listen! I won’t text you anymore.”
“Good. Okay, bye. Have a nice life.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and was about to tap the ‘hang up’ button with my thumb.
“Wait, wait, don’t hang up! I’ll stop texting you only on one condition.”
“….Fine, creep. I’ll listen if you make it quick. What is it.”
“Great. I’ll stop texting you forever if you send me a picture of you. Another wonderful selfie for me to keep.”
I nearly vomited. “You’re sick.”
“It’s nothing different than seeing your photos on Instagram, Ariana.” He sounded annoyed. “I’ll keep my word. Send me one little photo and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Not even in school?”
“Not even in school. I swear, never again.”
“Alright, I will.”
It was only a selfie, and no matter how creepy it was for him to want it, it wouldn’t hurt me in any way.
“Fantastic. Oh, but just one little thing, since it’ll be hard to never speak to you again.”
“What now?”
“The photo you send me now has to be from your gallery.”
“Whatever. Doesn’t make a difference.”
I left Brian connected and went to the texting app, then into my photo gallery to choose a picture to send. I scrolled through my oldest ones first, wanting so badly to send my worst selfies, but worrying that if I did he wouldn’t be satisfied. I couldn’t afford making him change his mind.
So I went down, down, down, to my newest, best photos.
I was about to pick one I had taken a week before.
“Here you g — ”
My eyes found the newest photo.
It wasn’t what it had been before.
It was new.
The photo was of me sleeping.
In my bed.
In my bedroom.
Me, sleeping.
And it had been taken the night before.
The hand holding my phone shook violently.
“So you found it.” Came Brian’s voice.
My other hand covered my mouth, and tears made everything blurry. I kept staring.
“Who do you think took that picture, dearest?”
“…Oh..my god…” I cried, my voice muffled and wobbling.
“It’s about time you noticed it.”
My finger shaking and missing a few times, I hit ‘hang up’.
I found Dad in recent calls and phoned him.
It rang once.
Twice.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
Third time.
“Please, please, Dad, pick up…”
The fourth ring.
I hung up.
I called Sydney.
It rang five times, then transferred to voicemail. I left a simple message: “Call me right now Sydney.”, hoping that my sobbing would convince her that it was important.
The phone rang.
“Sydney?”
“Nope. It’s me again, love.”
“You f-freak! Creep! I hate you! Psycho! Go to hell!”
He sighed. “Sad, that you’ll never appreciate me. But I guess it doesn’t matter now.”
“What do you want?”
I hung up again before he could reply, powered my phone completely off, and dropped it.
I don’t know where it fell, or whether or not it broke.
I don’t know if I left the TV on or not.
All I remember is fumbling through the bin full of loose change and rubber bands on top of the fridge, searching for the spare housekey I’d left there. When I couldn’t find it after nearly 60 seconds, I ran upstairs, expecting someone to jump on me at every turn. I found my car keys in my bedroom, and ran back downstairs, then straight out the door.
It was all I could do to remember to close the door behind me.
Then I jumped into my red Honda and drove like a madman to Sydney’s house, about ten blocks away, near the high school. I was hopeful when I found both of the family cars in their driveway.
But no one answered my knocks, even after I attacked it and yelled for a full two minutes.
I was crying now. The tears wouldn’t stop.
All I could do was return to my house.
He’s just a high school kid, I told myself on the drive there. Like me. He can scare me, but he can’t hurt me. He won’t.
I found the front door unlocked, realizing how dumb I was to do that. When I stepped inside, I locked it behind me, and went around the house to lock everything else — even if it meant having to unlock, then re-lock everything.
I closed all the blinds, then opened a few again when the darkness of the house started creeping me out.
After arguing with myself about it for a while, I decided to turn my phone on again, picking it up from the living room floor and leaving it on the couch again.
Then I simply kept watching TV, only I didn’t watch. I glanced over my shoulder every few seconds. I got up a few times to look out he window. My heart skipped a beat whenever I dropped the TV remote, or the automatic air conditioning came on.
All I wanted was to hear Sydney’s voice again, or Dad’s. They would call me soon, even if it was after a few more calls from Brian.
I knew they would.
He’s coming. They’ll be here. I’m perfectly safe right now. I’m fine.
But then the photo of me sleeping would appear in my mind.
The worst thing was, I didn’t get any messages. I didn’t get any calls, from anyone. My phone stayed quiet.
Brian stayed quiet.
I don’t know how, but the sun started setting, and I had to turn some lights on inside the house. Night was coming. I didn’t want to go to bed.
I had a splitting headache from watching TV and Netflix all day, and a sore neck from turning around every second minute.
The clock said it was almost 10:00pm now.
I called Dad again, and he didn’t answer.
I called Sydney, and she didn’t answer.
No one ever called back.
The phone rang, and I knew who it was.
“Hello.”
“Hi. I called to say goodnight.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“You’re trying to call everybody, aren’t you?” he said.
“Did Sydney ever call you?”
“You mean your friend? Sure she did. Said something about backing off. So rude. But that’s besides the point.”
“You hurt her.” I whispered.
“The point is, I think you’re going to get me in trouble, with this calling spree I imagine you’re going on.”
“You mean call the police?”
“I guess. And other things.”
“Is there something you want? What do you want?” I struggled not to break down crying again. “Just leave me alone.”
“Okay, you want a demand, here it is.”
I waited.
“Don’t tell on me or I’ll kill you.”
My answer came out as a pinched whimper. “Okay.”
“We’ll talk some more in the morning, sweetie. For now, just have a good sleep. I’m thinking about you.”
He ended the call.
I turned the TV off and went around the house, being as quiet as possible. I checked every door and every window, and they were locked. All the blinds and curtains were closed, and soon all the lights downstairs were turned off. Then I went, heart beating louder than my own thoughts, up the stairs and into my bedroom, quickly closing the door behind me.
The sooner I went to bed and fell asleep, the sooner morning would come. Before I knew it, Dad would be home from his stupid honeymoon, and he would bring his stupid new wife back home with him.
And I would be safe.
I turned off the lights and climbed into bed without changing into my pajamas, leaving my phone on the nightstand. I didn’t turn it off, hoping that Sydney or Dad would still call me back.
I pulled the blankets over my head so I couldn’t see anything, and wouldn’t uncover myself for air, even as I was drenched in my own sweat.
And I don’t know if I really did fall asleep, but I know I awoke with a startled kind of jump inside my bed. I was disappointed to see it wasn’t morning yet.
I lay there in complete darkness, trying to figure out what had woken me, when it came again.
My phone beeped.
Feeling shivers now despite the heat, I reached out for my phone and brought it in under the covers. Squinting in the bright, blue glow, I read the two messages that had popped up on my lock screen.
‘Sorry to wake you.’
‘This is the last text, Ariana.’
I went to my contacts and found Dad again. But instead of being in ‘favorites’, he was in ‘blocked’.
Just one more text, okay?
When I unblocked him, I found a list of missed calls. 3 missed calls from my Dad that had been blocked.
I’m really sorry. I really did love you, you know.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I was going to call my Dad. But first, I would give Brian his last text. The lecture would be long, and I would tell him how I really felt. There was no reason to be scared of him any more.
Even as I thought this, my hands were shaking, my thumbs hitting nearly every letter on the keyboard until I took a deep breath and tried again.
Leave me alone. Never text me again. I finally sent.
I heard the message being received from inside my bedroom closet.
