That…that was a girl?

“So how was your day?”

A she? This entire time?

“Of course you’re important to me, babe. I love you.”

But…how? I loved…love…?

I stare at the contradictions. I can feel my stomach freezing and melting at the same time; it drips slowly, painfully down into the empty space beneath, into a vacuum that drags my digestive tract into a dull ocean of nausea. One drip at a time.

“You shouldn’t take your mom so seriously. She’s just guilting you into doing something you shouldn’t have to. Don’t worry.”

Drip.

“I thought about you all day.”

Drip.

The soft splashes of my melting stomach echo the tempo to which my mouth silently curves to form the unspoken syllables I read off the screen. The vacuum drains faster, more painfully. Tiny silver chains slither sickly through my body, sliding smoothly around my kidneys and liver, constricting, pulling downwards into nothing.

“Aw. I’m sorry you have a headache. Go lie down, baby! Doctor’s orders!”

Now it’s at my lungs. They shrink, enclosed by two enormous hands that reach up from the emptiness, squeezed so tightly that I can feel my heart pounding behind them, against them, drowning beneath my collapsing chest.

And all the while I sit perfectly still, my insides crushed, my eyes reflecting the glaring light of the computer screen. The light is only broken by the black letters that form words that form lies.

“Of course we’ll be together forever. You know how much I care about you.”

…That…was a girl?

Crunch.

The sickening splurch of my lungs as stone hands close completely around them. The rush of air forced from my body, up my throat, over my dry lips: a whisper.

“I have to tell you something. Something that I’ve wanted to tell you for a really long time, but I’m so happy being with you, I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You can’t ruin it. Don’t worry. What’s on your mind?” I had callously replied, thinking it was just another surprise ‘I love you’ he’d grown so fond of giving. He’d tell me he had something important to say. He’d say ‘Guess what?’ or ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you!’ My curiosity piqued, I’d always reply ‘What? What is it?’ And then bam! An ‘I love you!’ out of nowhe-

“I’m…a girl, Charlotte.”

I had actually giggled aloud.

“Hahaha. Nice.”

“I’m being serious.”

I paused for a second, considering the words on-screen.

“…What? ”

“I’m a girl. I always have been.”

“Are…you playing with me?”

“No.”

“I mean, what, you’re really a girl?”

“My name’s Lily.”

“…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…it’s just, I wanted this to last. I wanted us to last.”

He’s…serious?

“Right. And why are you a girl suddenly?”

“When I saw you in that chatroom a year ago, I realized I had to have you. But…I was worried you wouldn’t consider me if you thought I was a girl…I’m sorry.”

I paused again, halfway between disbelief and anger, between fear and confusion.

…He’s just messing with me. He has to be.

“I don’t believe you.” I finally typed back.

“I’ll prove it to you then.”

“How?”

An explosion of digital noise cut through the silence; I jumped in my seat. The bright pink phone next to my bed was ringing, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the laptop’s screen blink with a new message only two words long:

“Answer it.”

Ring.

“How did you get my number?”

Ring.

“You gave it to me, remember? A while ago.”

Ring.

“But you never gave me yours because you said your parents would monitor the calls you made. You said they’d punish you if you called someone they didn’t know!”

Ring.

“I was lying. I just couldn’t let you hear my voice, because then you’d know.”

The phone stopped ringing. The answering machine beeped: One new voicemail.

“I can’t.”

“Listen to it when you’re ready. But I have to go with my mom to the store right now. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I understand. But…I love you.”

I couldn’t say it back.

“myfyandflyers892 has signed off.”

And now I stare at the blinking red light on the answering machine, my innards compressed into blank anxiety. My finger is on the play button. A thousand questions swirl through my empty mind; no one is there to read them, and with no one but my finger to answer them:

Click.

A muffled voice crackles through the old speakers of my pink phone. A quiet voice.

“I’ll love you no matter what.”

A girl’s voice.

No.

I erase the voicemail.

I sign off my instant messenger.

I unplug my room phone.

I vow never to speak to myfyandflyers892 again.

No.

She betrayed me. My trust.

How could I love another girl?

Ridiculous. It goes against everything I’ve been taught. My religion.

All this time.

This whole time. A year. I know everything about Jack. Her. Lily. Whoever the hell. We’ve been in love for a whole year. How could I not know?

Jack; he worked at a grocery store, a bag boy who wanted to become a writer one day. I’d seen his stories. They were good.

Jack; he defended me against my parents even when he knew I was being irrational, he listened attentively to every detail of every bad day. He never asked for my address or my age, my body type. He never even asked for my phone number, I just gave it to him.

He was born in Florida, 1989. He has two brothers older than him. His father’s a manager of a car dealership. His favorite music is punk rock.

He was never inappropriate, rude, perverted.

He was perfect.

No.

I’m too scared. He’s a liar.

She’s a liar.

I’m just too scared.

I can’t believe this. This isn’t right.

I sign back on.

“Do you still love me?”

Lily’s message flashes across the screen.

“Go to hell.”

Silence. My finger aches at the weight of the Send key.

“Do you still love me?” she asks again.

“I can’t. You’re a girl.”

Silence again, longer. My heart is pounding, smashing against my ribs. I can’t breathe.

“Do you still love me?” she asks a third time.

A third silence follows. The ceiling fan in my room speeds the seconds away; I stare at the keyboard, but all I can think about is that time when Jack got angry at me for procrastinating on a Chemistry assignment, but helped me finish it anyways. That time when he stayed up all night talking to me because my father passed away. That time she told me my poetry was good but needed improvement.

“Yes.”

When we ran.