Page 72 of Emerson

Jesse: maybe he found a different family

Warren: Emerson, if you don’t show your face soon I’m coming over and I’ll knock your door in.

Ian: bro… we talked about this. You can’t do shit like that.

Z: EMERY what are you hiding from us, baby brother?

Warren: probably a dipshit boyfriend.

Jesse: HA. I wonder…;)

Ian: maybe it was drugs :(

Z: OMG IAN THERE ARE NO DRUGS

Ian: …

maybe there are a lil drugs? Could be fun. I’ll contemplate it while I reinforce my door and continue ignoring this chat. Have fun at your lame bar, losers. I have sleep to catch up on.

Z: great, Emery. Now he will never let it go.

Finn, on a scale of one to dumbfuck, how embarrassed should I be that I went to Dillon’s house - started a fight - begged for sex - got a blowjob and then ran away?

Allegedly.

Oh and tears. Tears were likely involved somewhere in there.

You know what? Don’t answer that.

Should I go apologize?

No

But also maybe yes?

Finn where are you right now I’m having a CRISIS

Finn: its a 10

So not that bad???

Finn:….whats the number equivalent for dumbfuck? Did you even blow him back?

Whose side are you even on????

Fleetwood Mac is a subtle soundtrack playing from my speaker for my pity party of one. I groan at my phone and slap the device down on the shaggy rug under me, where I’ve been lying ever since I got out of the shower.

I should have marched back down to his house and demanded that he clean up his frosting mess from my body. I had frosting in places one should not ever have frosting.

I wish I had one of his cupcakes right now to feed the sads. Instead, all I have is the stupid healthy food I bought when I was unaware that future Emery would rather eat sand than a single piece of lettuce. I didn’t even get my greasy cheeseburger after work earlier. I was too busy mentally buzzing with the need to sink my metaphorical teeth into one big, dumb hotty and rip him a new asshole for not reading between the lines and around the other lines and knowing exactly how to deal with me.

Is it really so much to ask? To have a man just know all the things we want without having to speak them out loud?

“Ughhhhh, Eleanor,” I groan, flopping out like a starfish on the floor. My stomach grumbles, and she pokes her head out of the kangaroo pouch of my oversized hoodie blanket, where she’s sleeping on my stomach.

“Have one of your nine hundred lives involved a man? Or is that why you’re still kicking, cause you’ve been an unbothered queen?”

She slow blinks, and I read somewhere once that when cats do that, it means they love you. I am just pathetic enough for that one slow blink to send a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.