Page 1 of Are You Gonna Run?

One: Mommy Issues

There are three things in life that are certain: death, taxes, and the fact that I’m never gonna get off Tinder.

I’m so tired of swiping, talking about favorite colors, dreams, and families just to end up going on some boring date or getting ghosted. It’s the same cycle, over and over again, only broken up by the sick fucks who don’t bother to say hello before they hit me with something grotesquely sexual.

“Can I call you Mommy?”

“You’d look good with those plump lips wrapped around my cock.”

“I’d like to tie you down and show you who your master is.”

If I gag any harder, I’ll throw up.

All I want to do is go to a fucking haunted house. I wait all year for spooky season, but my best friend decided to move across the country and leave me here in Nowhere, Ohio all alone. As small towns go, Boston really isn’t that bad, but all my other friends are pansies, too scared to go to a haunted house. Either that, or they think we’re too old.

I could be grey haired with tits sagging to my kneecaps and I’d still want to go. So, just this once, I find myself in need of a man. The problem seems to be that none of them make it far enough to get me there.

One more time,I tell myself.If I don’t find someone to take me this time, I’ll just go by myself. To hell with Tinder and the whole damned gender.

Taking a deep breath, I squint one eye and swipe on every guy who looks even remotely promising. My first match, Henry, comes in the form of a bearded man who has a cute dog, so I send him a message. The second and third instant matches — Michael and Sam — don’t look half bad either, so I shoot off a couple more cheesy jokes and nearly call it a day.

But one more profile catches my eye.

Eris, 23. Boston. 4 miles away.

“Unless you wear fishnets, don’t talk to me.”

Glancing down at my lap, I chuckle at the fishnet leggings I’m wearing. I think that qualifies me.

He’s close, just a couple of years older than me, and the devilish look in his light green eyes tells me he’s not afraid of haunted houses. He might think they’re lame, but he won’t be scared. His sharp, square jawline and messy dark hair make me squirm, but it’s his slightly hollowed-out cheeks and quirked eyebrows that truly have my attention. He’s hot as hell, and looks like a lot of fun.

I wonder what’s wrong with him.

I’m in the middle of Googling different types of actual fishing nets to make another cheesy joke when my phone buzzes twice. The first is a message from Michael just saying hi with an lol, but the second... is from Eris.

Eris:Do you mean tug on your pigtails kind of bully? Or tease you about your daddy issues?

Also what’s your favorite candy?

Fuck, I forgot my own bio.“I’m looking for someone to bully me and take me to a haunted house.”Well, he’s halfway there already.

Me:Jokes on you, I love my dad. I’ve got mommy issues though. And Reese’s pumpkins are my favorite, I don’t care what time of year it is.

Eris:I accept that. Try popping them in the fridge for a bit. It’ll bring back a little faith in humanity.

Eris:Sorry about your mom. You haven’t said a word beyond the fact that she exists, but I’m pretty sure it’s all her fault.

He’s a quick texterandfunny?

Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. He’s either a serial killer or calls his mom in the middle of a date to tell her how it’s going.

Maybe both.

Me:If you ask her, nothing in history has ever been her fault. She’s a perfect little angel. But what about you? Any skeletons in your family a complete stranger should know about?

Eris:Angels don’t exist so I immediately don’t trust her. My skeleton doesn’t fit in a closet.

Eris:No, really. It’s 12 feet and taught me the valuable lesson not to impulse buy when I’m high.

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