Page 27 of Come Back to Me

God, she’s so beautiful.

A heart-shaped face, surrounded by waves of (currently) dirty blonde hair, all cheekbones until you reach that pretty mouth that I need to fuck. Her eyes are set wide and are almond-shaped—giving her an air of inquisitiveness. Like she’s watching everything and seeking answers.

I know I have it bad because I want to be the questions she can never answer so she has to come straight to the source for the intel.

“Jesus,” I moan, pumping into my fist, harder, faster, thinking about those eyes staring up at me, a wicked smile curving those lips.

“Damn straight I’m the only man who’ll get you off,” I breathe. “Only me.”

I grunt as I tighten my fingers, seeking more friction, wishing it was her cunt but?—

I haven’t earned that right.

Yet.

Letters

Butch Cassidy,

You pinkie promise, huh?

I think I like that.

No one pinkie promises anymore, and tbh, I think they should be used instead of contracts. So, good job! :D

I also loved your answers. I wasn’t lying when I said I dislike the cold, but you made me wanna go to Inuvik and I’ve never wanted to visit there. Ever. I mean, I’ve seen pictures and it’s beautiful, but I didn’t think it was for me.

It’s how I appreciate Thailand but I know I’ll never go because, point blank, I’ll be the person who gets stopped with twenty kilos of cocaine in their suitcase. I don’t take drugs, but I KNOW I’ll end up like Bridget Jones.

Fun fact, I only don’t take drugs because of my friend who’s diabetic. She’s had a lot of ups and downs with it, and it’s oneof the reasons I don’t drink either—I never want her to feel like she’s missing out. I’d probably have gotten hooked on heroin by now if it weren’t for her lol. I have an addictive personality. She frosts sugar cookies and I’m addicted to those. She’s practically my pusher at this point.

Your reply got me thinking, which, unfortunately, is forever dangerous.

I’m not sure if it’s better to kill someone with your eyes locked on theirs or via crosshairs fifty thousand feet in the sky… Ethically speaking, I suppose for your soul, you don’t have to think about their deaths. I’m not sure how that works. Should you feel the repercussions of actions you undertook under orders and on your country’s behalf, or does it mess with your head to the point where you can’t sleep?

Hmm.

A quandary, for sure.

I wonder if there’s a crystal for that. I’ll consult my book. I’m new to this crystal stuff. My nonna had this Groupon ticket for a crystal museum that she sent me as a Christmas gift and I almost didn’t go, but when I was in there, my brain slowed down.

It was strange.

Maybe you’ll understand if Inuvik in the winter does the same for you?

(Also, thank you for not teasing me about the crystals.)

My brain’s rarely still. I’m not saying this to toot my own horn (which would be fitting because I’m pretty good with the English horn), but I’m clever. It’s more of a problem than you’d imagine. That’s why, for your grade, I have to give you an A- so far. You’re not an idiot. I can’t tell you how refreshing that is. The last three soldiers weren’t the most erudite.

They wrote me back with ten lines.

Ten. Lines. Butch.

How was I supposed to work with that? Here I am, writing to comfort you guys, and they gave me nothing!

(I’m smart. Not a miracle worker.)

My heart sank when I saw your first letter because it was super short, but the words were spunky. (That’s okay, though, because unlike me, you ARE full of spunk. At least, your testes are.) Then, the next one was long and it made me really happy.

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