Page 10 of Bedding Rose
A tiny thread of satisfaction weaves through me at the fact that I finally got some kind of straight answer out of her, minimal though it is. I find myself grinning as I type my next question.
Me:What’s your major?
Rose:Undeclared.
Me:Undecided or undeclared?
There’s a long pause and three dots appear in a text bubble to indicate she’s typing. But then they disappear. Then reappear. Interesting. She’s clearly trying to determine whether or not to tell me. She must have chosen a major that she doesn’t want to talk about. Why?
Is it something her mother wouldn’t approve of?
This girl is just full of secrets.
For a second, that makes me sad—because I know she’s hiding her hurt and how she copes with it. Hiding the fuckers who hurt her. But if she’s hiding her major, she’s also hiding her hope for her future.
Does anyone actually know the real Rose?
I wait for her reply, but a message never comes through. She doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. Unsurprising, though a little snarl of disappointment knots my gut. Didn’t I prove myself by keeping this other secret? I try to ignore the feeling because there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I lean back against the seat, staring out the window at the glowing balls of peach light cast by the streetlights as we drive toward the dark, looming mountains before I return to our chat. If she won’t tell me her major, I’ll have to find out another way.
Me:What if I guess?
Rose:Sure.
Me:Pre-med, since you know all about the psycho pills.
Rose:LOL. No.
Me:You sure?
Rose:Yes. Now, I gotta go.
Me:Wait. I want to know you’re ok.
Rose:I'm ok. I'd be better if you’d just leave it alone.
Me:Can’t do that. I’m involved now.
Rose:You don’t need to be involved. I’m fine.
Me:I don’t believe you. Prove it.
Rose:What?
Me:Send me a pic. Prove you’re fine.
I almost type “of your legs” after “pic” but stop myself because thatwouldbe psycho. And the thought of having a photo of Rose’s thighs on my phone makes my throat grow tight. Nope. I glance guiltily over at Quique, who’s grinning down at his screen, oblivious.
A photo comes through of Rose's face, her eyes narrow, perfect bow lips frowning, middle finger saluting me.
Motherfucker.
Rose:Perv.Blocking you.
Me:Don’t. (!)
I click the alert icon and it reads: Message not delivered.
Shit. I try again.
