Instamask

PART I : THE HOSPITAL

Horror. Fear. Anger. Pain.

I can’t look into her eyes anymore.

The machines are going to go crazy any minute.

The family’s smiling at me.

They have no idea.

They think I’m going to make everything better.

They wait with bated breath.

They can’t see the sweat under my nose.

They can’t see me chewing my lip off.

My mask hides all.

I look back with glassy eyes.

I squeeze my lids down to make it seem like I’m smiling back.

She breathes but only barely.

I take a risk and I take her hand.

Thud. Smash.

Her phone falls to the ground. The screen cracks, but isn’t terribly damaged.

I bend down.

Before I can touch it, it shines in my eyes showing me the face of the man who’s going to lose her.

That’s when I do the most questionable thing in my life.

PART II : THE ESCAPE

I race home after my shift finishes.

It wouldn’t be long now.

I make sure that the nurse on call has the authority to call time of death.

The windshield wipers sweep away the striking rain.

It’s a powerful car with powerful mechanics. Why can’t I see?

That’s when I realize there’s water not just outside my car but inside too.

It’s streaming down my face, soaking my mask. 

I pull up into the driveway. I begin to rip the mask off my face but the phone with the cracked screen lying on the passengers seat begins to ring.

Fear.

I shut my eyes and let it ring until it shuts itself off.

I grab it and walk into the house, looking over my shoulder, wondering who, if anyone, could see me, getting drenched in the cold dark rain.

I tear the mask off my face finally taking full breaths, not realizing I am going to wear another mask again, very soon.

PART III : THE HESITATION

I have watched enough shows to know that I need to remove the sim card from the phone to not be tracked.

My intentions aren’t evil, but there is no harm in being thorough.

Once I pull it out I shred it with a scissor and burn the remnants. I don’t know why. The phone is more evidence of the theft than the sim card.

I click the home button and see the backlight flicker on once again to show me the face of the beautiful man whose heart is about to break.

There are no two ways about it.

It has to be done.

There was a face ID on the phone but I had had the presence of mind to remove that and all other forms of security at the hospital.

I press the lock button and throw the phone onto the couch.

I can’t do this.

But it just has to be done.

How many more people will continue to lose their loved ones?

How much more havoc will be wreaked?

I walk over to where the phone fell. 

It never landed on the couch. It bounced off the armrest and fell to the ground.

Two new cracks on the screen.

It doesn’t matter, the owner of this phone is either dead or dying right now.

I put the phone on the island in the kitchen and slowly and carefully delete almost all social media applications from the app drawer.

Save one.

PART IV : THE ENCAPSULATION

I’ve been trapped by the endless scroll.

I’ve found something to feed on.

All I was looking for was one picture. One picture to find his account.

But now I am captured.

Who can save me?

Swipe to the right, oh no.

The selfie camera is an abomination.

My face looks so fat. Who’d want to see a story of that?

Swipe to the left.

More scrolling.

Who looks at this kind of stuff?

Oh wait.

That’s interesting.

Hmm, that’s interesting too.

Oh my god, there he is.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.

I don’t even know what kind of language she uses.

Swipe left.

Oh my god. There’s way too many messages.

I completely forgot that people would be able to see that I’m, I mean see that she’s active, active once I had connected her phone to the WiFi.

There’s direct messages from him.

Aaron.

That’s his name.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so beautiful in my life before.

I didn’t want someone so beautiful to feel something so ugly.

The pain of losing someone.

I go through a couple of conversations she’s had with her friends. She isn’t that talkative, seems like an attentive listener, even on text. She usually uses full words as well, except for when she types the word ‘you’ it becomes ‘u’ and when she types the word ‘because’ it becomes ‘cos’.

It didn’t seem so hard to inculcate that into my text.

Finally I take a deep breath and look at the conversation with Aaron. He’s been texting me for over fifteen minutes now. I mean her.

He can see that I’m active. There must be a green dot next to my face. My beautiful face.

I mean her beautiful face.

I’m chickening out. I don’t know if I can do this. He’s gonna find out that she’s dead eventually.

I can’t open the chat.

I procrastinate. But I know I shouldn’t.

This is an important task.

I open my gallery.

Wow. There’s so many riveting pictures. 

What a face. There’s enough pictures here for me to post every day for the next few years.

No wonder she calls herself @beaut94.

Why aren’t these photos up already?

Self esteem issues?

I go through the images slowly.

There he is.

Aaron. Or as his own handle displayed; @a-a-Ron

There’s another one.

Wow. There’s one of the both of them.

They look so good together.

Like greek gods.

They’re happy.

Tragedy befalls all of us.

That I have to be the one to shatter the happiness.

I reopen my inbox.

There it is. 20 more messages from @a-a-Ron.

It’s time.

I cannot ignore him anymore. He’s been messaging me for too long. Anyone would become suspicious.

Oh my god look at these messages.

“Hey Beautiful”

“Hey Gorgeous”

He wasn’t the only one to call me that.

My friends thought the world of me too.

When I went through my own page I saw the pictures and peoples comments.

Such adulation, adoration, admiration.

9000 friends and followers, wow.

What would everyone feel for me after this?

I go back one last time to the chat, determined.

I quickly scan through the messages he’s been sending.

Mostly he’s been asking me what the status is and if I’m okay.

I begin to respond.

@beaut94 : “Hi.”

I press send.

@beaut94 : “I am fine now”

Send.

@beaut94 : “But I need to talk to you.”

Send.

I hesitate to say more.

Will he reply to me? Will he say anything?

Im desperate to know.

The idea of him already has me yearning.

He begins to type.

@a-a-Ron : typing…

The bubble disappears.

It reappears.

The cycle repeats thrice.

Finally,

@a-a-Ron : “My love, I am glad to know that you are safe and healthy. I was so frightened for you. I can’t wait to have you in my arms again. This time I’m going to be the one to take care of you and I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

@a-a-Ron : “Tell me, what is it you want to talk about.”

@a-a-Ron : “Also why aren’t my messages reaching you and why are all my calls going to       voicemail?”

A lump appears in my throat.

He loves me so much. I’ve never had anyone love me at all. And this boy, just the way he talks to me has me aching to know more. I want to hear every word he ever has to say to me.

I swallow the lump and blink back new tears as I begin to type.

@beaut94 : typing…

“I’m sorry but this illness has changed me. We can’t be together any…”

I stare at the screen as I see the green dot next to his face. I can almost imagine him. Calmly waiting on the other side of the conversation.

I backspace until all the words on the keyboard have been deleted.

I can’t hurt him and I can’t lose him.

I just cant.

I begin to retype.

@beaut94 : “Darling, this illness has only strengthened and solidified the belief in me that we are meant to be together and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Send.

He replied with a heart.

@a-a-Ron : 

@a-a-Ron : typing…

As he began to retype again, I go back to my gallery.

I find the prettiest picture of me that I can find and I click on share.

Share :

          via message

          via mail

          via instagram

I pick the third.

I caption it, “Good to be back guys. Love you all.”

I press enter and watch silently as the comments start to flood in.