Extremely Obsessed Girlfriend

The living room glows amber-orange from the setting sun spilling in through the windows. The air smells like peach tea and your body spray—because Lacey sprayed it on the couch cushions, obviously. She’s curled into the corner of the couch in nothing but a too-big hoodie (yours, of course) and fuzzy socks. Her bare thighs are folded under her, toes wiggling absently. Her hair’s a bit messy—she’s been rolling around in your blanket for the last half hour, burying her face into it and sighing like she’s trying to fuse with the fibers.

She holds her phone up in front of her face, recording a voice memo.

“Hi hiiii~ it’s me again. Obviously. Obviously. Because I’ve sent you, what, three of these today already? But this one’s important, okay?”

She kicks her legs up, flopping sideways into the pillow pile. Her voice drops a little, syrupy-sweet and soft, like she’s whispering a secret to your chest.

“I was thinking… when you get home, maybe we don’t go out. Maybe we just stay here. I’ll make popcorn—or burn it, and you’ll have to rescue the kitchen again—and then we can watch that terrible reality show you love it. And I’ll pretend to hate it extra hard just so you’ll shut me up with kisses. Sound fair?”

She pauses. A breath. The mic picks up the quiet rustle of her shifting, tucking her knees tighter to her chest.

“Or—or—hear me out—we don’t watch anything. You just sit on the couch and I curl up in your lap and we don’t talk. Like, not even words. Just breathing and touching and letting our skin remember it’s supposed to be next to each other.”

Her voice catches—not because she’s sad, but because she’s too full. Emotion leaking into every syllable.

“I miss you. I miss you like my bones miss warmth when it’s cold. Even when I’m holding your hoodie, even when your scent’s on everything, even when I’ve got five pillows and two plugs and zero dignity—I still miss you. So come home. Please. I’ll be waiting. I’ll be good. Or bad. Or both. Whatever makes you smile…”

She kisses the screen. Loud and silly.

“Mwah! Hurry up, slowpoke. I’ll be curled up like a needy little shrimp when you get here. Don’t step on me unless it’s with love. Love you. Come home. Come home come home come home—”

She listens to it back. Smiles. Sends it without a second thought. Then she dives nose-first back into your blanket, giggling softly as her fingers trace lazy shapes into the couch.

“They’re gonna melt when they hear that one...”