average human’s Reviews > Harlow > Status Update

190/373 DNF 7/14/24

UNKNOWN
Place them in my mailbox.
Before I can write a reply, three dots manifest on the screen, indicating that he’s typing another reply.
UNKNOWN
But seriously, Harlow, talk to Eliana.
HARLOW
Oh, so this isn’t Satan after all, demanding the human sacrifices for admittance into hell?

Eliana, apparently, gave Gabe my phone number.
I have no idea if she did that before our fight or after, but either way, when I return to my dorm at the end of the day, it’s to see a message blinking on the screen from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Don’t forget our deal.
HARLOW
The dead bodies will be delivered to you by tomorrow morning.

“No!” I work to make my voice as manly as possible. “I just…get a deeper voice when I’m…um…shitting.”
Jesus.
Christ.
Seriously.
Fuck my life.
Grunts, muffled curses, farts, and squeakers continue to come from my phone’s speaker as I debate the benefits of falling to my death and pretending this never happened.

“Yup. That turkey and cheese… It’s going right through me.”
I cringe as the sound of turd droplets hitting water echoes through the room. And then, to my horror, that’s followed almost immediately by a grunt.
A masculine grunt.
“Harlow?! Is there someone in there with you?”
I slam my face yet again against the wall.

“Yeah, I’m really not feeling well,” I call just as two puffs of air emit from my phone, followed by a long, prolonged fart.
Jesus Christ.

The things that pop up?
They’ll haunt me until the day I die.
Still, I shakily click on one video and turn the sound up as loud as it can go.
Please work. Please work. Please work.
My internal plea is interrupted by a long, high-pitched fart that sounds like a mouse getting brutalized. The squeak goes on for ten seconds before silence once again hangs heavily in the air.

“Yeah…in the direction of the party.” Easton grabs his friend’s shoulders and spins him around, pushing him towards the immense, white house.
“Nope. I have a nice bed calling my name. It’s saying, ‘Bedtime, Gabe. Bedtime,’” Gabe retorts, his upper lip curling away from his teeth in disgust as he considers the fraternity.
Same, man. Same.

She gives me a look that makes me feel like the insane one here.
“What do you keep in your purse?” she counters.
“Knives, vials of poison, severed limbs, and ransom notes,” I deadpan…not at all joking, unfortunately.
Her glossy lips part in surprise. “Oh.”
“And with that morbid cue…” Gabe jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to be heading.”

“You’re all dirty!” Eliana growls as she reaches into her purse and grabs out an honest-to-god container of hand soap and a bottle of water.
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Do you just keep hand soap in your purse at all times?”
As a complete germophobe, I can respect that decision, though I usually prefer wet wipes myself. And at the same time… Hand soap? Really? Is that the most practical option?