makes contact with the girl's skin. My abs convulse, as I spill myself out over her, no doubt soaking her top. Once the last bit was released, I crashed back into the soft mattress and exhaled slowly.
“Close the door on your way out, will ya' darlin'? I need to sleep this off.”
I heard the heated huffing and mumbling from under her breath, before she did as she was told.
The door closed behind her with her bouncy little ass disappearing through it, as I slipped into a semi sleep-induced pre-hangover coma.
******
I felt light, weightless. That didn't seem right. The alcohol should have been weighing me down. My cell vibrated from within my pocket. I reached to answer it with much more coordination and dexterity than a drunk person should be able to use.
I didn't bother to read the number on the screen. It was damn late, whoever was calling must have known what they're doing, waking me up this time of night.
“Yeah?” My voice is clear.
Silence.
“You need something?” I'm getting irritated now.
More silence. Well, almost. There was breathing. Shallow breaths, muffled through the phone. I rolled over and scanned the room for the block numbers on the cable box. 3:48 in the fucking morning.
And then I heard it.
The tiniest of little squeaks as if the person had tried to speak and then thought better of it. I bolt up. It's her.
“Lil's? Is that you?”
I heard a breath catch on the far end of the phone call. It was her, I knew it. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in almost five months... since she took off on me. But sure as I am of anything in this fucking life, I was sure it was her.
I close my eyes tight. “Why Lil's? Why'd you do it? Why'd you leave?”
Just as sure as I knew it was her, I somehow knew I wouldn't get an answer. The clicking sound was almost immediate, the ringtone not long after. I threw the phone as hard as I could against the wall opposite the bed and crashed back down to the blankets.
I had kept my word, kept my promise to Butch. I'd stayed away. Well, almost. About a month after she took off, I got word of her address. I rode my bike up there and got as close as the street nearest hers. I couldn't do it. I couldn't see her.
Part of me wanted nothing more than to show up at her door and demand answers. The lump in my throat and acid in my stomach gave me reason to pause. What was I gonna learn, huh? Would any reason be good enough?
I had barely hung on, these past weeks. Maybe not knowing was better? Not having the confirmation of my worst fears might be better than the alternative. Maybe the slight glimmer of hope that she might come back to me one day was worth it. Sometimes hope is all that gets you through. You snuff that out and there's nothing left.
My thoughts start to randomly shuffle and splinter off in tangents as sleep takes over.
******
The roaring of bikes past my open window, welcomed me to the morning... as well as the wicked headache pounding my fucking skull. I was still dressed from the night before... dick still loose from my pants where the sweet butt left it. I rubbed my eyes. The phone ringing in my pocket woke me further.
I absentmindedly reach for it, my aim shaky and careless. Confusion crept into my hung over senses. It was Tiny. We had plans to hit up the shooting range today. I check the time. 9:08. Fuck...
I flipped open the phone, my cracked, raspy voice answered it. “I'll be there in twenty.”
I dropped the phone against my shoulder, the weight of it proving too heavy for my whisky-weakened muscles.
It wasn't real.
I inhale deeply. It was never fucking real. The dreams were happening less and less lately, but the emptiness they left behind never changed. I swallowed hard and braced for the wave of nausea that I knew would wash over me as I climbed out of bed and made my way to the john.
I knew I wouldn’t be getting there in twenty minutes. Tiny knew it, too. But he'd wait for me, and wouldn't mention a goddamned word when I finally got
“Close the door on your way out, will ya' darlin'? I need to sleep this off.”
I heard the heated huffing and mumbling from under her breath, before she did as she was told.
The door closed behind her with her bouncy little ass disappearing through it, as I slipped into a semi sleep-induced pre-hangover coma.
******
I felt light, weightless. That didn't seem right. The alcohol should have been weighing me down. My cell vibrated from within my pocket. I reached to answer it with much more coordination and dexterity than a drunk person should be able to use.
I didn't bother to read the number on the screen. It was damn late, whoever was calling must have known what they're doing, waking me up this time of night.
“Yeah?” My voice is clear.
Silence.
“You need something?” I'm getting irritated now.
More silence. Well, almost. There was breathing. Shallow breaths, muffled through the phone. I rolled over and scanned the room for the block numbers on the cable box. 3:48 in the fucking morning.
And then I heard it.
The tiniest of little squeaks as if the person had tried to speak and then thought better of it. I bolt up. It's her.
“Lil's? Is that you?”
I heard a breath catch on the far end of the phone call. It was her, I knew it. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in almost five months... since she took off on me. But sure as I am of anything in this fucking life, I was sure it was her.
I close my eyes tight. “Why Lil's? Why'd you do it? Why'd you leave?”
Just as sure as I knew it was her, I somehow knew I wouldn't get an answer. The clicking sound was almost immediate, the ringtone not long after. I threw the phone as hard as I could against the wall opposite the bed and crashed back down to the blankets.
I had kept my word, kept my promise to Butch. I'd stayed away. Well, almost. About a month after she took off, I got word of her address. I rode my bike up there and got as close as the street nearest hers. I couldn't do it. I couldn't see her.
Part of me wanted nothing more than to show up at her door and demand answers. The lump in my throat and acid in my stomach gave me reason to pause. What was I gonna learn, huh? Would any reason be good enough?
I had barely hung on, these past weeks. Maybe not knowing was better? Not having the confirmation of my worst fears might be better than the alternative. Maybe the slight glimmer of hope that she might come back to me one day was worth it. Sometimes hope is all that gets you through. You snuff that out and there's nothing left.
My thoughts start to randomly shuffle and splinter off in tangents as sleep takes over.
******
The roaring of bikes past my open window, welcomed me to the morning... as well as the wicked headache pounding my fucking skull. I was still dressed from the night before... dick still loose from my pants where the sweet butt left it. I rubbed my eyes. The phone ringing in my pocket woke me further.
I absentmindedly reach for it, my aim shaky and careless. Confusion crept into my hung over senses. It was Tiny. We had plans to hit up the shooting range today. I check the time. 9:08. Fuck...
I flipped open the phone, my cracked, raspy voice answered it. “I'll be there in twenty.”
I dropped the phone against my shoulder, the weight of it proving too heavy for my whisky-weakened muscles.
It wasn't real.
I inhale deeply. It was never fucking real. The dreams were happening less and less lately, but the emptiness they left behind never changed. I swallowed hard and braced for the wave of nausea that I knew would wash over me as I climbed out of bed and made my way to the john.
I knew I wouldn’t be getting there in twenty minutes. Tiny knew it, too. But he'd wait for me, and wouldn't mention a goddamned word when I finally got
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