When Orion first found out about Artemis’ former vices, he worried 24/7. Orion acted as if Artemis was literally made of glass if she even cringed or said, “I feel kinda dizzy”. In a drop of a hat, he’d come to her aide. Orion was the diva’s attractive co-star. As for me, I was the stagehand. Still, even at this point, I said and did nothing ill against Orion.

He made everything better.

I had been waiting for Orion to say something. It had been more than two weeks since I began dropping hints about Artemis. My strange remarks went from “Please put the doctor on the phoneshe’s not making any sense”, to the more straightforward “(She’s sick)” and “Don’t just leave (her) here. Don’t just leave (her) here. Don’t just leave (her) here for dead now”. I even went as far as “R-E-L-A-P-S-E! That is what you’ve done to (her)”.

My cries for help were so blunt, that even people who didn’t know Artemis knew she was in trouble. I had been hoping for Orion to save Artemis from herself. Only he could.

I checked today’s messages and found nothing about Artemis.

Nada-zilch.

I stared at the glowing screen. Pixels physically proved the absence of concern. A lump of denial dropped in my throat. I refreshed the web page.

He hasn’t noticed my remarks.

The little “Loading” icon popped up on the screen.

He’s busy.

The page filled up with characters.

He’s just really slow.

There were the same combinations of the alphabet.

He doesn’t know how to reply.

I clicked the red X in the corner of the screen, closing the page.

He didn’t care… Orion didn’t care.