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Description
The clock ticked, dimly making its presence known to my consciousness. My eyes darted to the irradiated, glowing machine in front of me.
It had been five minutes since the last response, five minutes since I had bared myself in a foolhardy act of defiance.
The ticking continued. I counted my heartbeats in relation to the mocking noise.
Swiveling in the chair, I nervously glanced sidelong at the screen. Still no message.
What was he thinking? It was possible that he had left the room, that he hadn't read my words, wasn't sitting there stunned and unfeeling as I envisioned.
The letters changed on the bottom of the open window. He was typing. My heart leapt, and suddenly I was finding excuses to bustle about the room, averting my gaze.
After a moment of extreme tension, I peered over the top of my high-backed office chair. No typing and no message.
I began to dream up improbable reasons for his silence. Sudden death? Mauled by the cat mid sentence?
As I was poised there, the typing began again.
The screen blinked.
"Okay."