I text him back, “I’m good, yeah. :) How are you?”
I don’t tell him that I’ve spent the past hour sitting in the bathtub sobbing, or that I’ve just thrown up my breakfast lunch and dinner, or that everything hurts and I don’t know what to do.
A minute later he replies.
“You never use emoticons. What’s up?”
And I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.
“Do you want me to come over?”
(Yes. Yes. Yes.)
“Hey. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming.”
Deep breaths. Stop hyperventilating. Fingers for god’s sakes stop trembling. “You don’t have to. I don’t want to be a bother.” I’m trying to play it cool.
It takes him all of two seconds to reply.
“Fuck that.” He says, and I wince. “I’ll come for you every time. Don’t you ever think I won’t.”