He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The unknown number had no profile picture. No history. Just that one venomous thread. Someone had tried to write a story about him this time. Someone had needed a villain.
He’d sent a similar text to a man named Marcus. "Hate 2 story, but I think ur girl likes me better." Marcus had replied with a single period. Then nothing. Later, Leo learned that Marcus had driven his truck into a retaining wall at 80 miles an hour. The police called it a mechanical failure. Leo, alone in his studio apartment at 2 a.m., called it the end of a story he had started. hate 2 story
Two years ago, Leo had been that number. He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand
Leo didn’t feel rage. He felt something worse: recognition. He was looking at a mirror, and the mirror was a stranger’s text message. Just that one venomous thread
Or he could let it go.