Reach Me Read Online Free

life as Trey or Maggie or Dad or Brian. I just wish I could convince myself to say yes, to go out on a limb and meet him.
     
    Russ_00: I didn’t mean to scare you if I did. It’s just the truth. For me, seeing you in more than just my dreams is more than a goal, Lindsay. It’s a wish. A hope. You’ll come around. And until you do, I’ll wait. Here goes. Full disclosure—> L.R. Barnett, 3857 Las Vegas Blvd., Unit 4303, 89109. Now you can stalk me. Please? :)
     
    Russ_00: You know how to reach me. Goodnight, Linds.
     
    I sit staring as he signs off in his same old way. “You know how to reach me.” It means so much more than it sounds like. He’s been signing off that way since the beginning and it’s more than just a way to say goodnight. It’s an offer. A request. An extension of the option, the option to give hope a shot.
    I’m too scared. Scared of heartbreak, of course, but more scared of ruining one of the most meaningful relationships I’ve ever been lucky enough to hold on to.
     
    LNZ84: Goodnight, Russ.
     
    I stare at my laptop for what feels like forever. He’s so determined and some part of me loves the fact that I feel like I’m going to lose this battle at some point. A part of me wants nothing more than to meet him and just… see if we truly have what I sometimes think we have.
    The other part of me is scared to death of meeting him and being disappointed. I worry that the loss of the mystery and intrigue will inevitably lead to distance and subsequently loss of our friendship. It’s a risk that I’m just not willing to take. Not yet.
    I close my laptop and lie back in the middle of my queen-sized bed amongst my nine throw pillows. I know nine is excessive—even fancy pants Brian says so, and my brother has more throw pillows than Raymour and Flanigan (not that he’d ever shop at such a “gauche” store). I have a system, though. There’s a reason for my multitudes of pillows. I fluff them. I stack them. I adjust them then readjust them. I’m totally and completely neurotic. I should just buy a twin bed and get it over with. After all, only two are for me and seven are for the part of me that wishes there was someone taking up the void on the other side of the mattress. Those other seven pillows are for the part of me that wonders if my life would be any easier if I had a husband to share the weight of my world with. At the rate that I’m going it seems I may never know.
    My hand slips under my pillow to reach my journal. I prop myself against my headboard and crack open my universe. The ballpoint pen slides out from the spiraled spine and I get to it.
     
    Journal,
    Some days I feel so lonely my chest aches. I run through these various scenarios that all include him here with me. With us. Self-loathing at its best. He turned away from me and I guess it wouldn’t hurt as much if I hadn’t been pregnant. It’s sheer stupidity on my part for thinking that if breaking my heart didn’t give him pause that maybe, just maybe, a child might. It didn’t. He didn’t believe me when I told him about the pregnancy nor did he give me the option to prove it to him. Who does that?
    He packed and left as planned. He transferred to Texas to chase after Sarah Copeland. It still pisses me off. I despised her in middle and high school and nothing has changed on that front. Those two have been on again off again since third grade.
    What bothers me most, still, is that he did it all without the slightest hesitation. There was no “Oh shit, what are we going to do?” moment. He went straight to “Later, bitch!”
    Seeing him walk away from me wasn’t nearly as hard as seeing how easily he walked away from our child. It was unthinkable to me then and it’s unthinkable to me now. I guess if I’m perfectly honest with myself, I’d be forced to admit that maybe I don’t miss him per se, but the idea of him. That’s it exactly. I miss the idea that we might possibly have been together, maybe even