Pushed The Button
She closed her eyes and pushed the button. The simple, harmless button decorated only with the letters S E N D on it. She closed her eyes, pushed the button and sealed her fate. All she had to do now, was wait…
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, to confess her sins and bare her soul in an email. The simple detachment of telling a blank piece of paper how she felt, and yet the second she pressed the button she was overcome with a sense of dread. A chill ran down her spine and the room began to spin, she was glad she was already sitting down as her knees turned to jelly What had she just done?
She wondered whether their friendship could sustain such a confession, how these feelings would be received. She wondered what response she would want and more importantly what response she would actually get. Could she handle flat out rejection? Could her friend do that to her? Was she prepared enough to find out?
Oh yes, it seemed very much like a good idea at the time, but now she found herself sitting there for an indeterminate amount of time waiting for a reply—that was if she was even going to receive one! A good idea indeed!
She tried to pass the time playing idle games on the computer and running long overdue virus scans, and yet she still found herself waiting. This, she decided, was very much the worst part—not knowing. If her friend had immediately replied with a "thanks, but no thanks" reply or even, "do you really think I'm going to speak to you again?" response, that would have been something preferable to the waiting. The waiting game. That's what she was doing, playing the waiting game, although she couldn't see what was so fun about this game. She certainly hadn't been informed of the rules, but she could clearly see what was at stake and how much she could lose if the outcome didn't favour her. The waiting game must be a form of gambling, or so it seemed to her. She just hoped she hadn't bet too much.
As time slowly ticked away, her thoughts began to wander. She tried to stay positive, thinking of all the good times she had spent with her friend. Using the logical side of her brain she knew that whatever the outcome of the email, she would most likely still have a friend at the end of it. It might take a while to re-build the shaken friendship -- let's face it, confessions of love can rock the best of relationships when they're not reciprocated -- but at least they would still have one left to work on ... she hoped.
Beep Incoming mail…
This was it, the moment of truth, had she correctly judged their friendship? Would she even still be able to count her as a friend? Or maybe she would get everything she had ever dreamed of. She closed her eyes as the cursor hovered over the "New Message" icon, she took a deep breath and then, she pushed the button…
