Page 158 of Scattered Glitter

Why don’t you like women getting hurt?

It sounded like there is more to that than common sense and morals.

The question feels heavier than it looks. Before I can rethink it, my fingers take over as if they need to get it out.

I killed my girlfriend.

Unintentionally.

I can’t look at the screen. That truth is an open woundI’m showing her, and quiet terror settles in my gut as I brace for the judgment, the disgust.

This is where she’ll go silent.

This is where she’ll be done with me.

My phone vibrates, and it has my heart jumping to my throat.

I’m sorry for your loss.

A shaky breath expels from me as I reread the text. There’s no accusation, no fear.

That’s not how most people react to that.

Most see me as a monster.

The next text takes a little longer to come, but when it does, each word hits like a punch I never saw coming.

I killed my boyfriend in an accident.

I freeze as I try to process it, not knowing what to feel. Part of me wants to laugh at the dark irony, but mostly, there’s this hollow ache in my chest. She’s not messing with me. She’s not playing along. She’s been there in that same pit of grief and guilt.

Is she someone who could actuallyunderstand?

I’m sorry for your loss too.

I’m sorry for the pain you have to live with.

It’s a lonely pain.

It is. It’s the truth that keeps me trapped inside these walls sinceherdeath. And here is Glitter, admitting it witha raw honesty that leaves me feeling more exposed than I have in years.

I don’t think. I just type.

I could be your friend.

My heart pounds, waiting until the screen finally lights up again.

Doubt you can handle me.

I grin as I shoot back.

Try me.

Be careful what you wish for.

Ever since our first text exchange, we’ve established this push-and-pull energy that leaves me teetering between irritation and intrigue. Like a hook sunk in deep, yanking me closer, even when every instinct tells me to stay guarded.

She reminds me of my life before everything went to shit.

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