I couldn't sleep that night. It was two AM and I was still roaming the house, loathing myself. I was supposed to pick my parents up from the airport at five, so there was no point in sleeping now.

I had a chance. A chance to be in a normal, healthy relationship. And I hadn't even considered it because I was already in a relationship. A fictitious relationship with a boy who wanted me when it was convenient. He would ignore me until he could feel me slipping through his fingers, and then he would draw me back. I thought he needed me, that I was helping him. At what cost?

So, at two in the morning, as I was biting on my thumb nail until it bled, in the dead silence of my suburban neighbourhood, I thought: maybe, just maybe, it was time to be selfish.

I spun my phone on the granite counter top, watching until it stopped. Over and over. I wrapped the blanket on my shoulders tighter around myself as I opened up my messaging app, typing.

New Message

To: Cian CoffeeGuy

Hiya.

I'm sorry, about tonight. And not texting you earlier. I've just been dealing with some things. I would like to hang out some time, if you still want to.

Bailey

Delivered

I gripped my phone tightly, re-reading the message over and over. This is probably what he would wake up to. Was it too straightforward? Was it weird to say I was dealing with something? What if he just chose to find someone normal instead?

Incoming Message

Are you free tomorrow? I finish work at 6pm.

Sent 2:10

My stomach flipped uncomfortably as I started biting my other thumb nail. I let my fingers hover over the keys for a few seconds.

I deserved this. I deserved to be selfish and I deserved to be happy.

But then why did it feel like cheating?

Outgoing Message

I'm free. What do you have in mind?

Delivered

Incoming Message

I like walks, and I believe you owe me a coffee.

Sent 2:13

"Bailey," Gemma spoke from the hallway, flicking on the light, "what the actual fuck?"

I tore my eyes from my phone to look at her. She had her eye mask pulled onto her forehead and her red fox slippers on, her arms crossed in front of her.

"Sorry, Gem. Couldn't sleep."

"Could you at least put your phone on silent?" She pointed angrily and I blushed, turning my ringer off. I hadn't even realized it was on. Gemma was an extremely light sleeper. She used earplugs most of the time due to my mother's snoring, and could only sleep if it was pitch black in the room or she was completely exhausted.

She had seemingly gave up sleeping though, as she walked over to pull open the fridge just as my screen lit up again.

Incoming Message

I could pick you up at 7. Or we could meet somewhere if you want.

Sent 2:16

Outgoing Message

Seven is great. See you.

Delivered

"Who are you texting?" Gemma asked, as she shoveled a spoonful of canned peaches into her mouth.

"I'm not, just on Instagram."

Gemma raised her eyebrow skeptically, returning her gaze back to her can and shrugging indifferently. "I didn't realize Instagram's name was Cian."

I locked my phone, placing it screen down on the table and staring at her.

"If you already knew, why ask?"

"I wanted to see if you would lie. I was right." She flicked the TV on, it immediately playing an infomercial about a necklace as she flipped through the guide.

"There's nothing wrong with having a crush, Bailey," she said distractedly as she found a rerun of How I Met Your Mother playing.

"I don't have a crush."

"Sure."

Three hours later I was driving down the highway to the sounds of my parents gushing about their trip. There was something about my parents that gave me hope- they were so unbelievably in love with each other. Twenty-four years of marriage and they never ran out of things to talk about. They still held hands as they walked down the street, my dad still brought home the occasional flowers, my mom made him coffee every morning, and they still had Saturday night dates.

"Bailey, you should have seen your mom at that karaoke bar, belting out Stevie Wonder."

"Nothing compared to you at mambo night." My mother poked my father cutely in the cheek, and he beamed. Just like kids in love. Not that I knew anything about that.

"I can't wait for our anniversary trip. It's going to be even better," my dad said, kissing my mother on the nose. I cringed. Thankfully, I had less than a month of living with the hopeless romantics before they were off again. It's amazing, honestly, that people so happily in love could have a son like me. Maybe it was their optimism that made me this way. That made me believe that everyone was worthy of love, and if I just tried hard enough, I could get love back.

"Is the house still un-wrecked?" My father attempted at a joke.

"Dad, I keep telling you, you need to have friends to have a party."

I really shouldn't have been driving. I could feel my eyes wanting to close. I should have tried to sleep. It wasn't uncommon that I was awake all night. My mind was like a computer program always running, I couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding my mind once they started.

After I pulled into the driveway and helped my parents haul the luggage inside, I went straight down to the basement and passed out in my bed.

"Bailey!"

"No."

"Bailey!"

"Gemma, fuck right off."

"You fucker," she muttered as I felt a cold liquid run down the side of my face. I woke with a startle, staring up at Gemma, who was tipping a glass of water and watching it run down my face.

"Gemma, what the hell!?" I pushed her away groggily with one hand as I rubbed at my face with the other.

"You left your phone on the vanity and you have a bunch of texts. And I definitely didn't read them at all, but you should probably confirm with Cian that you're still alive and are still meeting him."

I looked around the room, and it was very dark. There wasn't even a hint of light through the window, meaning the sun had already set and I was probably very late.

"What time is it?" I sat up and tried to smooth out my hair, but it stuck out in all directions as a result of sleep.

"Sevenish." She handed me the phone and flopped down on my bed, looking up at the ceiling

"Fuck!" I threw myself out of bed and began scouring the floor for a pair of clean and not-so-wrinkled jeans. I was no stranger to getting ready in 10 minutes for school, but this was an actual date. I'd never been on one, and I was clearly off to a great start, sabotaging myself before I ever had a chance.

He knew where I lived, what if he just showed up and I was here looking like I just crawled out of hole. Someone actually was showing genuine interest in me, and I reciprocated by sleeping through part of our date.

Incoming Message

Going to leave soon. Almost ready?

Sent 6:35

"Fuck," I muttered to myself as I began typing a very apologetic text, but my phone vibrated in my hand.

Incoming Message

Taking that as a no.

Sent 7:15