Page 31 of Revive

“Night.”

Despite wanting to drive him crazy, I end the call and read back the text that started it all.

“Long enough when I’ve been jerking off to the very thought of you every single one of those three days.”

Fuck. Me. Hendrix Michaels is going to set my body on fire, and I have no doubt I’m going to enjoy the burn.

9

Hendrix

It’s Friday and I have never been so happy to see the back of a working week. Sunday night was a complete write-off. Instead of an early night to set me up for a good Monday morning, I drank until the numbness took over my body and my mind. Until I couldn’t feel, until I couldn’t remember, until darkness was my only companion. I made sure that I would feel so shitty every time I thought of Sasha, there would be nothing but bile and revulsion, because anything before that was a fantasy land, and Ineedreality. I need it quick. I need it to hurt, I need it to be honest with myself, and more importantly, I needitto be happy.

Monday arrived with a vengeance. Physically, I welcomed the fog. It provided a temporary relief from how shattered and destroyed I felt on the inside, but my brain had to work overtime to compensate for the sluggishness. Especially when an email lands into your inbox before you’ve had your morning coffee telling you your whole site and program is being audited.

The whole process is equivalent to getting all your teeth pulled out. Working with teenagers as a youth worker has been my calling for as long as I can remember. There’s something so fulfilling about being able to help someone who would otherwise fall in between the cracks, and not in a self-righteous way, but more in the privilege of watching someone so vulnerable accept help and want to do better for themselves. Even if they don’t know how important those first simple steps will be in their future, it’s the effort that is life-changing. That’s why I do this job. It’s the one thing that makes the paperwork, the politics, and all the injustices, worth it.

Governed by the Department of Youth and Community Services they always love to surprise us with random file checks. Especially when we’re in the process of requesting funding for our program to be extended for another three years. Every single kid has a file, more than three hundred clients, and every encounter documented. It’s probably our fault they’re not always up to date, but you always think you have time, and before you know it, time’s up. So, it’s been a crazy week, and I’ve earned the right to a drink, but after Sunday night, I don’t think that’s the answer.

What I do think will have my week ending on a high, is Taylah. I didn’t think she’d come through, and after a heated discussion with Jagger at footy practice, I was pretty sure my life would be made up of fleeting moments where I wondered where she was or what she was doing.

Repeating his earlier sentiments about fucking around with Emerson’s friend, he decided to remind me of the lifetime load of baggage I have with Sasha. Like I could forget. And even if there was a moment I did, the universe is ready to shove it right back in my face.

Not even forty-eight hours since our first text and she’s got me in a constant state of arousal. Every second message is laced with sexual tension, every other one is me asking when she’s free.

I want to fuck her. More than once. And if there’s any way I can make it happen, I will.

Leaving the office a little later than everyone else, I climb into my car and call her number. It’s the end of the week, and I’ve got energy to burn.

Four long rings pass before her a muffled voice answers the call. “Hello.”

“Taylah?”

“Hold on a second.”

“Hey.” With the background hustle fading into nothing, her voice comes through much clearer. “Sorry about that, I just had to find somewhere quieter.”

“Where are you?”

“Central Station. Just waiting for the train home.”

My eyes flick to the clock on my dashboard. “Overtime?”

“Ha,” she scoffs. “Is it still called overtime if you don’t get paid? I don’t usually get out any earlier than seven, but when the words on all my paperwork began to blend with one another, I decided I’d had enough.”

“Week from hell?”

“How did you know?”

“Must be the season.” The conversation goes silent, and I can’t pick whether she’s uncomfortable or shy, but I proceed to get to the bottom of it anyway. “So, I was calling because I thought we could upgrade from the texting. Maybe have dinner, and you can tell me about the week from hell.”

The pitch in her voice rises. “You want to eat dinner?”

“Well, everyone’s got to eat.”

“Right.”

Shutting down the conversation for I second time, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose by pressing her to tell me what’s got her so tongue-tied. “Taylah. Just spit it out.”

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