Chapter Two - Messages
755 Words
Tiana’s POV
Buzzzzz.
My phone vibrating rattled through the mattress and directly into my skull. I groaned, trying to cling to the fading dream – the suffocating mist, the shrinking door, and that terrifying, hollow-eyed version of Ben.
Buzzzzz.
"Oh, for f**k's sake," I hissed, jolting upright. My heart hammered against my ribs, my mouth tasting like a woollen rug – a lingering souvenir of last night's tequila.
The antique clock read 7:00 a.m. Far too early for a Saturday. I reached out a fumbling hand, grabbed my phone from the bedside table, and swiped down the notification tab.
My jaw dropped. Sixty notifications from LoveBomb. Thirty-six matches, twenty direct messages, and four requests for "additional photos."
I hauled myself out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen. Only after the coffee machine hissed to life and I had a steaming mug of Peruvian roast in my hands did I dare to open the app.
The first message was from a guy named Greg. His profile picture was simple – a kind face with a mischievous smile in a professional studio. Ooh, he’s actually quite cute, I thought, tapping his message.
My jaw almost hit the granite worktop.
Greg: Hey there Tia - how would you like to be Tia-bagged by these Greg big balls tonight?
Accompanying the text was a photograph of what I assumed were Greg’s testicles. Average-sized and disturbingly hairy.
"What the f**k!" I gasped.
The audacity was staggering. I took a screenshot and fired it straight into the 'Margarita Senoritas' group chat.
Tiana: If this is what dating apps are all about, my eyes need bleaching.
Cleo instantly replied with a laughing-crying emoji.
Marissa: Just give it a chance, Ti! Maybe he just has a very... specific sense of humour?
Tiana: It’s unsolicited anatomy, Mari! I’m deleting the app.
Cleo: Don't you dare. Just block Greg-the-Baller and move on.
I sighed, staring back at Greg’s profile. He really was handsome, and the pun – horrible as it was – made a traitorous giggle bubble up in my chest. What the hell, I thought. I typed a reply.
Tiana: Ballsy first impression. But I prefer my tea without the extra baggage. Try again, Greg. Without the anatomy lesson this time.
I hit send and toggled back to the group chat.
Tiana: Are we still on for Fandangos at 11? I need to forget I ever saw that man’s pubic hair.
Cleo: I’m out! Kyle invited me to lunch. Sorry babe!
Marissa: Yes! Ben is looking after the boys for a few hours. Took some encouragement, but I’ve convinced him to "babysit" until at least 3.
My blood pressure spiked. Babysitting his own kids? Mari was the breadwinner, stuck at home for eight months, and he acted like watching his own flesh and blood was a massive favour.
Tiana: See you at 11. I'll be the one wearing dark sunglasses.
I put the phone down, moving to my favourite velvet armchair in the lounge. I sank into it, trying to shake off the morning's chaos, and decided to flick through a few more LoveBomb messages.
I swiped past a "Hey," and then a name stood out that made the coffee turn to lead in my stomach.
Todd: Hey beautiful, how’s things?
I deleted it immediately. Nope. Not today, Satan. Seeing my sociopathic ex-boyfriend pop up on a dating app felt like a glitch in the universe.
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. Sixty notifications. One pair of balls. One witty comeback. One ex from hell. And it wasn't even 8:00 a.m.
Determined to clear the inbox before I showered, I tapped the very next message. It was from a profile that simply used the initial 'B'.
I clicked onto it. My heart stopped, and the air vanished from my lungs.
He had a familiar, crooked smile. The profile picture was a slightly grainy, off-centre crop of his face. I recognised the navy blue jumper – it had been cut from a picture Marissa posted on her social media last month. He was so brazen he hadn't even bothered to take an original photo.
It was Ben. Marissa’s husband.
With a trembling finger, my mind completely blank, I tapped the message.
B: Hey Tia. Didn't expect to see you on here. You looked stunning when you dropped Mari off last week. Fancy keeping a secret?
I stared at the glowing screen. A cold, sharp prickle danced across the back of my neck – the exact same sensation from my nightmare.
- Writer
