3 Words

A Story by Wade Jericho

Language may be inappropriate for some audiences. Reader discretion is advised. Late at night, do you send that text? Do you dare?

In a way, there was never a chance.

But in another way, he still has hope.

She never really looked at him the same way, and she was fairly distant, but he wonders whether that's truly significant, or if he's scaring himself away.

Sure, distance could be an issue, but what if it wasn't? They say it's better to try something than to regret not having done so. But the idea terrified him. Rejection is a possibility that is all too real. He doesn't like that idea.

But he may never see her again anyway, so he fights with himself, struggling to find some reason to give up or to make a more aggressive move. Either way, he knows his days of failed communication and casual flirting are coming to an end.

"F**k it." He gropes for his phone without sitting up. Any unnecessary effort and he might change his mind.

He unlocks it and winces at the bright screen. As he opens his texts, a lump forms in his throat.

"S**t, it's 3 AM?" He knows she'll be awake though. "But what do I even say?" Nothing comes to mind. Part of him wants to send a three-message confession of love, part wants to just say "good-bye," and yet another part realizes that whatever he does won't be level-headed at 3 AM and that he should just go to bed and reassess in the morning.

But if he waited until morning, this would be a very boring story. Nothing would happen.

He rolls to his side. So does his phone's screen orientation.

As he sets it back to portrait, he bites his lip, straining to invent a rational, but emotionally compelling message. He begins to type.

"No, that's weird." He deletes all he has written.

His stress levels start climbing. He flips to his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. His eyes start stinging from the light of his phone. He does love her, and he knows it, but to what extent? How do you tell when your love is more than friendly?

-- Sent. 3:27 AM

"F**k." He doesn't remember typing that. But he knows it's true. But he still wants to take it back.

He locks his phone and rolls onto his back, staring blankly at the newly dark ceiling. He closes his eyes hard and holds his breath.

Was that his phone? That might not have even been a vibration. He checks anyway. No response. Then a text comes through. It's her. He opens it, heart pounding in his chest.

He imagines her eyes staring at him as he reads the words stamped over the darkness. Blue with a subtle hint of green. A color like a mountain brook. Kind eyes.

His hands shake as he sets his phone aside. Deep down he knew how she felt before this moment, but now there was no way to escape it.

He sits up and walks to the light switch. He doesn't touch it. He slides his feet into a pair of sneakers and walks outside.

There are so many stars in the sky as he breaths in the cool, humid air on this summer night. There is a hint of coffee mingled among the scent of dew.

"Coffee sounds great." It's almost 4. "May as well get ready for the day."

He walks back inside, approaches his bed. His phone still displays her words. He gulps and picks up the phone.

While he makes coffee and toast, his phone sits on the counter, showing the same 3 words.

As he finishes the last drops from his mug, his phone vibrates again. One word. His name. Followed by a question mark.

Another buzz. 3 more words. Again. 4 words.

A few minutes pass as his eyes begin to sting again. This time it's tears, not the light.

Another message appears. 3 more words.

His exhaustion returns, despite the caffeine he just consumed.

1 more word.

Something rattles in the distance, several streets away.

2 words.

Received. 4:47 AM