Page 13 of Something So Strong

Hearing my phone buzz, I lay my cigarette on the edge of the windowsill I’ve been sitting on, and stand. There’s no point in saying, speak of the devil, when I eye its screen because I already knew it was Alma before leaning over my bed.

She wants to talk. I—on the other hand—would rather scratch all my tattoos off with a rusty nail than have to listen to her talk about how hurt she is before trying to convince me we’re a good match. Again. It was hard enough to get her to leave last night.

Flipping my phone over, I return to the window, and an almost paralyzing explosion of nerves in my stomach gurgles up my esophagus and erupts into a smile. Cigarette forgotten, I lean on the paint-chipped sill and stare.

He’s even pretty from up here. Fucking perfection. His smile beams as he talks to one of his meat-head friends with a new uniform folded and draped over his shoulder. I almost wish I could reach out and pick him up. Put him in my mouth. Lick him clean…

My tongue rolls around the inside of my mouth. The sensation alone is not enough to satiate me, but the idea of Jesse’s weight bearing down against it…

Goddamn.

What is this man doing to me? Key word; man.

It would be just my luck that my greatest temptation comes in the form of my greatest fear. But the way he makes me feel is so otherworldly. So close to what I guess happiness feels like, that there’s no way I’m willing to push it aside.

I’m not in Manitoba anymore.

That cunt can’t hurt me here.

I deserve this…

Smirking at my train of thought, my steely gaze almost falters as blond hair is swiped back from his face and green eyes meet mine. I’m three floors up, but the look on his face is clear; stone cold indecision. I know he wants to smile, wave perhaps, but he’s terrified of how I may interpret it. Something as small as a friendly gesture gifted to someone as driven as I am right now would have me waiting at his door, ready to push every button he has until I find the one that’ll make him mine. So he’s wise to remain cautious. Even if it does mean I’ll only push harder when the chance does arise.

Too smart for his own good, he holds eye contact before disappearing under the entrance awning. No change in expression. No hints given to his friend that he was even looking in my direction.

Fuck, I need to get close to him.

To know what makes him tick.

To understand why the hell just thinking about him fills me with uncomfortable amounts of optimism…

Another buzz of my phone has me contemplating whether it would be easier to smash it to smithereens or type out a succinct reply to Alma, laying out exactly why I won’t be entertaining her discussions any further.

“I’m coming to see you at 2.”

Like fuck you are, Alma.

The fact she believes she has enough power over the situation to dare think about taking my decision hostage boils my blood. I made the call and nothing will change my mind. I’m a prick like that. My unflappability holds no bounds. And right now, I have two choices. Either I respond; telling her she isn’t welcome, at which point she’ll show up anyway, or leave the message unread in the hopes she thinks I’m busy and doesn’t bother.

But who am I kidding? Whether it happens today or tomorrow, she’s going to come knocking.

She’ll knock, I’ll tell her to piss off, she’ll use her master key to invite herself in, and I’ll unleash a tirade of frustration-fuelled words at one of the few people here I do actually like. And fuck it, I even care about her in my own deranged way. I don’t want to see her cry. I genuinely enjoy her company when she isn’t insecure and needy, but for the love of Christ, why can’t she see that I’m not the bad guy? I never lied or cheated, and we were never in a goddamn relationship.

My fingers grip my cell so tightly that I’m surprised the glass doesn’t smash in my hands. Arm shaking from the tension, I reach out my window. I want to drop it. I’ve been trying to find an excuse for the past six years to destroy my SIM card and this could do it.

Alright. On three. One… Two…

Jesse’s door creaks shut and my strength is gone.

I lost the fight for complete detachment once again.

My phone isn’t backed up.

My social media is as anonymous as it gets.

Yet in that tiny mixture of metal and silicone is Millie’s number, along with Amy’s, Candace’s, and Laura’s. And… Moms. There’s no reason I would ever want to contact that spineless, abhorrent cow, but I can’t seem to let it go.

My tongue clicks against the top of my mouth and anxiety surges in my chest.

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