Mike met Destiny on three weeks ago and was texting through Facebook Messenger at 2 AM on a Tuesday, which should’ve been the first red flag.
But he was lonely, she was pretty.
They messaged for three straight weeks.
Deep text conversations about nothing. She told him she liked to read and her favorite books—all romance novels he had never heard of.
He pretended to care, and said he was more into sci-fi but respected her taste. She sent him paragraphs at all hours. He responded with sentences.
By week four day four, Destiny was in deep.
She was already telling him she was looking for “companionship,” talking about how she wanted “a man” to “enjoy life” with.
Mike was still trying to figure out if they had went on an actually date yet or if he had just dreamed that part.
Then came Tuesday morning. 6:53 AM, his phone lit up with a whole essay. She was still going off about all that damn companionship shit and Mike returned the text —why are you tripping, wanting companionship from a man but never communicating with that man, not answering the phone, or nothing answer that?
He needed answers. He needed them now.
No answer just praying hands emoji.
Time had passed and Mike was asleep. His phone was on Do Not Disturb because he worked night shifts and valued his sanity.
He woke up at noon to seventeen notifications from Destiny. Each one more frantic than the last. But it was that caught his attention:
Destiny: “i dont date thru facebook”
Five minutes of silence. Then:
Mike: Who the hell trying to date thru facebook not me you tripping”
Mike stared at his phone. Stared at the ceiling. Thought about the three weeks of constant texting. The “companion” talk. The paragraphs about how she was ready for something real. He could argue. He could screenshot receipts. He could lay out the whole timeline.
Or he could be free.
Destiny: Okay Mike! Have a great day!
He added the sarcastic emoji for flavor. The one that’s like, a brown ice cream swirl with eyes and smiley face.
Freedom lasted forty-seven minutes.
Mike: “Damn you got to be my woman to read my content that’s fucked up”
Mike put his phone face down. Went to the kitchen. Made a sandwich. Ate it slowly. Checked Instagram. Watched three TikToks. Considered his options.
He never responded.
Destiny unfollowed him an hour later, but not before posting her Facebook status to “These men ain’t shit” and a quote about knowing your worth.
Mike deleted Destiny messages and blocked her that night. Picked up a book for the first time in six months. It was a sci-fi novel about a guy who moved on Mars to get away from bipolar women.
It was perfect.