Texting Anonymous

The next morning, I wake up feeling... different. Like something inside of me shifted overnight. I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying everything that happened. The kiss. The way they held my hand. The way they left without saying a word, but still sent that text. The, "I love you." one.

I don't even know who they are, and yet, those words made my chest tighten in a way I can't explain.

I groan and roll onto my side, burying my face into my pillow. I can still feel the warmth of their lips, the weight of them pressing me into the bed, the way I melted into it without thinking.

God. What the hell is happening to me?

I check my phone, but there's nothing new from them. Just that last message, sitting there like a secret between us. I stare at it for a second before locking my phone and forcing myself to sit up.

School. I have to get ready for school.

I drag myself out of bed and start the routine—shower, getting dressed, brushing my hair. But the entire time, my mind is stuck on last night. The way I felt. The way I still feel. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my face a little flushed, my lips tingling at just the memory of the kiss.

I shake my head at myself and mutter, "Get it together, dude."

But no matter how much I try to focus on the day ahead, I know one thing for sure—this isn't something I can just forget. Not when I feel like I'm still living in the moment. Still tasting it.

And the worst part?

I already want more.

I head downstairs, my mood shifting the second I hear my mom moving around in the kitchen. I don't say anything to her, and she doesn't say anything to me, but the tension is thick. I can feel it, the weight of everything that happened yesterday still hanging between us.

She went through my phone. She saw everything.

And now, no matter how much I try to push it out of my head, I know she probably sees me differently. And I hate it.

I grab a piece of toast from the counter, ignoring her gaze on me as I eat in silence. I don't want to talk to her. I don't even want to look at her. She invaded my privacy. She saw something she wasn't supposed to. And now, I have to live with the fact that she knows.

As if that isn't bad enough, my stomach twists as I remember church. The sermon. The words that felt like they were being aimed directly at me.

"Being gay is a sin."
"It goes against God's design."
"Those who stray from the path will face consequences."

I knew what they were saying. I knew exactly who they were talking about.

And yet, last night, I kissed someone. A guy. Let them touch me. Told them I loved them.

I feel sick.

I shove the rest of my toast in my mouth and grab my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder before heading for the door.

"I'm going," I mumble, not bothering to wait for a response.

I hear my mom sigh behind me, but I don't stop. I don't want to hear whatever she has to say. I don't want to see the look in her eyes.

I just want to get out of here.

But as I step outside, I can't help but feel like I'm being torn in two.

One part of me is still replaying last night, still clinging to that kiss, that warmth, that feeling of finally being seen.

The other part?