He’d been nice once upon a
time. When some poor chap had texted him ‘hey!
we met at the bar ytd, remember me?’ he’d told him gently that sorry bud, I
think you’ve been given the wrong number. He’d spent all of the previous night
at the lab, and was certainly nowhere near a bar no matter how much he wished
he had been (he might have done some lonely consolatory drinking while working
on his college project, but that was besides the matter).
But this was getting
It had happened every now
and then. Once every two weeks. Maybe once a month, even. But for the last
month these texts became increasingly frequent, and really, if he had a dollar
for every ‘hey girl hey ;)’ text that
he had received in just the past two weeks alone, he’d be buying his own cruise
ship and sailing off to Bora Bora where no one could text him again. Honestly,
if he could get his hands on this absolute twat of a human who kept using his
number as her decoy, he would shove the recent texts of ‘WTF BRO’ and ‘I GOT FUCKING
TRICKED BRO’ and ‘this isn’t even the
first time bro’ down her throat. It sure as hell wasn’t his responsibility to
console broken-hearted bros, when he had his own problems in the form of a
pigheaded code that refused to work properly.