Page 8 of Dared

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to type the words. My vision blurred, and I rubbed at my eyes with one hand as I hit Send.

ME:

I’m really sorry. I lied to you

I didn’t even have a minute to catch my breath before a reply came through.

FINN:

You’re here! I was worried. Are you feeling better? What did you lie about?

No, I’m feeling worse.I lied about my entire personality.

ME:

Not really better but not for the reasons you probably think. I lied about who I was and I’m sorry. I lied about being sick too

FINN:

WTF?

My phone started buzzing in my hand, Finn’s name flashing up on the screen. I couldn’t do it.I swiped to decline the call, biting down on my trembling lip.

You fucking coward.

ME:

I gave you a fake name when we exchanged names. I didn’t want to be me. I couldn’t be me. It’s so fucking stupid but I couldn’t be me and talk to you. I realised you’d seen me when you were telling me about the guy who’d frozen on the stage. That was me

There was a long, long pause while I gripped my phone in my trembling hand, my heart in my throat. I didn’t even know why I was waiting for a reply. I’d sealed my fate already.

The screen lit up again.

FINN:

Fuck. I don’t even know what to say. That was you?

ME:

Yeah. I understand why you won’t want to speak to me again. For what it’s worth, you’ve been a really good friend to me. I hope you have a great life

Switching my phone off, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.

A banging sound had me blinking my eyes open, disorientated for a second before it all came back to me.

Finn. My confession. The loss of a friend.

It hurt so fucking much, and it was all my fault.

Pulling myself into a seated position, I rubbed at my swollen eyes. The banging sounded again.

“Not now, Connor,” I croaked.

My bedroom door flew open, and my stomach went into free fall. It wasn’t my housemate standing there.

“No,” Finn said, stalking straight into my room like he had every right to be there, a dark look on his face that was such a contrast to the smiling, playful faces he made in his photos, my breath caught in my throat. “You’ve been a really good friend to me? Have a great fucking life?”

I shrank back on the bed, completely lost. What was I supposed to do? Was he really here in the flesh, not just as a picture through my phone or a voice in my ear?

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