Page 102 of Unlocked Dive
“Send me another video and I’ll decide.”
Something tenuous stretches its fragile wings behind my ribcage.
“And you wonder why I question your decision-making process.” I’m grinning like a lunatic, alone in the dark. “That’s not going to help you think with the right head.”
“You don’t know that. My dick and my brain have always been on the same page when it comes to you.”
“Lucky boy.”Mybrain is finally catching up to what my dick—and my heart—have known all along.
“Coen? Doyoustill want this to be a relationship?”
“I’m hoping you’ll let me try.”
41
Echo
Byrd: What are you doing right now?
Missing you.
I’m always missing you. Every second of every day. In my sleep, at school on the rope or the straps or the trampoline. Even when I’m reading your texts, I’m wishing I was hearing your voice.
One fucking FaceTime in eight weeks, and I could barely see your face. It’s not enough, and I’m slowly starving on the scraps.
I don’t send any of that. I’m trying to prove he didn’t make a mistake reaching out and giving us another chance. That I’mstrongandindependentandtotally finewith him a million miles away. That the scraps are enough.
And I am fine. Sort of.
Because, yeah, NCC is pretty awesome. I’ve made friends, people who challenge and inspire me and make me laugh. I’m learning new skills and expanding the limits of my creative process—taking modern dance and contemporary theater and even performance art. I’m muddling through the culture shock and picking up pieces of Dutch and German and figuring outhow to navigate a new city on a fucking bicycle, for fuck’s sake, because that’s how everyone gets around over here.
It’s everything I dreamed of when I decided to audition—except for the part where I’m not getting laid. I mean, Icould—there are plenty of guys in Tilburg who would love to fawn over my dick—but none of them have chestnut hair or eyes like sunlight through redwood needles. And none of them look at me like they want to put me back together after they take me apart.
So I can wait for an eventual future with Byrd.
But it doesn’t stop the gaping pit of loneliness that cracks my heart open every time I get one of his stupidly casual, frustratingly adorable texts.
I roll over in search of a cool spot on my sheets and try to decide how to respond to the latest.
I could be honest, but mopey, needy Echo is unlikely to get me what I really want—another video call to tide me over. One where I actually get to stick around for the stunning Coen cock finale.
Immature and sassy it is, then.
Me: Hanging out with Thor.
Byrd: Is that a real person? Or are you talking about the Avenger?
Me: Real people can be named Thor. Especially this close to Norway.
Imagining him thinking that over, I bite my lip to stifle a grin.
Byrd: Is he a new friend? You haven’t mentioned him before.
Me: He’s my new roommate.
Byrd: …
Byrd: It’s a one-bedroom apartment.
