~ Harley ~
I wake up with my phone in my hand with his taste still on my mouth.
That’s annoying.
That’s how I know I’m f****d.
Not naked panic. Not shame. Not regret.
Attachment panic.
My phone is still unlocked. I must have fallen asleep while doomscrolling. My For You page is doing what it always does when I’m spiralling. Sad girl voiceovers. Couples arguing in cars. A girl crying in her bathroom with mascara down her face saying, “If he wanted to, he would.”
I scroll.
Bad idea.
Another video pops up.
Some girl with lip filler and a messy bun saying, “If he’s older, rich, and calm, babe, you’re not dating him. You’re being mentored.”
I freeze.
“What the hell,” I mutter.
Next swipe.
Another one.
“When he says you’re mature for your age? Run.”
I sit up so fast my head spins
