Sass.
Those are the only three photos I’m allowed to see because her account is private and I’m not a friend of hers. I switch to Photo Album to see if more pics of her are there. What does she do in her spare time? Does she paint, does she cook, play tennis? I scan the few available photos for clues with such intense focus that I almost completely forget about the meeting. The last photo is a field of sunflowers.
I’ll have to look through this later, and I find myself wishing the meeting would be over quick just so I can continue checking her profileout.
I try to push the positive emotions away by imagining her acting like my mother would. The rages, the accusations, the slaps, kicks and punches. The hysterical shrieks followed by crying and the same old apologies about how it would never happen again.
But for some reason, when I look at Penelope’s pics, I can’t see it. I can’t really imagine her screaming at anyone—certainly not at Lilly Belle. She’s too gentle, of pure heart.
When I click off “Photo Album” and try checking out her “About” page, I accidentally hit “Add Friend.” Augh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Quickly, I hit “Cancel Request” but it won’t matter. The fact that I was stalking her page will soon be known to her. I slide the cursor off but the damage is done. Fuck—that’s what I get for being curious.
Time to get back to work and put my mind where it needs to be. Where it should’ve been in the first place.