What to say, what to say...
So my new iPhone has a ton of emojis. I call them emoticons, but my students tell me that this term is so last year, and that they are now called emojis. I looked it up, and it turns out that emoticons are a representation of facial expressions using characters from your keyboard, such as this: ;-). Whereas emojis are a small digital image or icon used to express an idea or emotion--in other words, a tiny graphic. So the two aren't actually synonyms after all. Maybe I'm the only person in the world who didn't know this? Anyway, I have a ton of these on my phone, and it turns out that me and emojis are NOT a good mix. Like, I have this compulsion to use them ALL. From the simple happy face to the Easter Island Head (because, you know, the Easter Island Head has a ton of practical uses within a texting conversation). It's just that there are so many, and they are right there, one keystroke away, begging for me to use them.
Take these threads, for example (gray boxes = my sis; green/blue boxes = me):
Last night was quiet, but I just couldn't find the off-switch on my brain, which is always a fun ride.
I actually jumped out of bed around 3 in the morning (sometime after the Macarena) and scratched down a short scene with Grayden and Audrina:
"You don't get it. I want to hurt you. I want to drag you down my road of twisted perversity and I want you to hate it. And relish it."
Cold sweat trickled down her neck. She already knew this. But hearing him say it aloud forced her to imagine flesh on those phantoms--to see them as real.
"Is that what you want? You want me in pain?"
"Yes," he said, and then paused. "But then I feel these waves rippling from you, and they're awful. They seep into my skin. And I want to change my answer to 'no'"
"Grayden." In two steps she had his face cupped in her hands. She saw the conflict in his eyes, like clouds crashing over an uncertain sea. "I'm sorry."
She tucked her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, too tight at first, but loosening at her gasp. She could feel his heart--his perfectly normal heart--beat against her cheek, and she relinquished herself to the realization that it was here, listening to his body's rhythm, that she felt safe.
But something logical pulsed inside her brain. This is a faux safety, it said. This is controlled chaos. This was the way a smooth sea shone like glass right before being broken by brutal winds and rain.
A storm is lurking, this logical thing said.
She told it to shut up.
So that's just GREAT. Another scene for a story that doesn't exist.