Page 28 of Owned In Misty Mountain

The silence is so loud it gives me a headache.

Every time I close my eyes, I see his face.

Hear that rough voice growling in my ear.

Feel his mouth, his hands, the strength of his body claiming mine.

And then the fire in his voice when I told him no.

—-

Sunday, I bake for no one.

Scroll my phone like an idiot even though I never gave him my number.

Not that he asked for it.

Not that I offered.

I wish I had.

Maybe he didn’t call because he couldn’t.

Or maybe because he didn’t want to.

I try to read. Can’t.

Try to write. Forget how.

Lie in bed for an hour in his shirt. The one I was wearing when I left his house. And cry again when it stops smelling like him.

—-

Monday morning hits like a punch.

I wake early. Move slow.

Try on three different outfits and end up settling on the first one.

It’s not for him, I tell myself.

Liar.

My stomach turns as I walk to work.

The air is crisp, sun barely up. The town’s still quiet.

I unlock the doors. Sit at my desk.

And wait.

I don’t know if I want him to come.

I don’t know if I can take it if he doesn’t.

—-

The door creaks open at 8:07.

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