Page 25 of Hello, Listener
I turn to my side and feel for my glasses and my phone on the cherry wood nightstand.
“Fuck, what have you done to me?” I ask aloud, scrolling through Thalia’s Instagram page.
The black wheels of my chair slide on the protective plastic covering on the gray carpet. My phone is like a spotlight in my studio; her picture is a beacon, drawing me in as her picture takes all of my attention.Does she not know the way she looks makes myheart feel like it’s going to fall out of my fucking chest?I wonder what she’s doing right now. It’s the middle of the week, she’s probably working.What time is it?The late hour is shown in the lower right of my computer screen, just barely past eleven. My focus on the newest episode wavers. A half hour passes while I stare at my laptop, working on the intro for next week's episode.Lee is going to kill me if I don’t send it to him tonight.
Our newest episode is on the “sick fuck” as Lee would call him, Joel Rifkin. He was sentenced to prison for two hundred and three years. It looked like they thought he might have killed seventeen people, nine of them being women. Who fucking knows though. It may have been more.
He killed his first victim, we’ll call her Susie, in 1989. According to the research I had made, she was a “prostitute” or a more politically correct term, a sex worker. A lady of the night, as my grandmother would call her. Words like “prostitute” were too dirty and too real for her to say.
Rifkin took her back to her place and bludgeoned her to death. He later dismembered her body. He put her teeth, fingertips, and head in a paint can and disposed of her legs, arms, and torso in the East River around New York City. They later found poor Susie’s head on the seventeenth hole of a golf course in New Jersey, of all the fucking places. Susie’s skull wasn’t identified until 2013.Shit, that’s a long time. My focus changes from the computer to my phone.Fuck, I can’t concentrate.
I scroll through Thalia’s Instagram page again. Stopping at each picture, examining the photo. Wondering where she is, and who she is with. I look closely at what she is wearing, paying attention to the details.It’s the small details that matter.My eyes move fromJoel the Ripper on the monitor on my laptop, and then to my phone. Fuck it, I give up.I need to get out of this house and get my mind off of her.I shut the lid to my laptop and slide out of my large, leather chair. The room goes dark, and I walk towards the long hallway.
Ashley is asleep on the couch, clutching her Kindle that rests on her chest. The television is playing soft ambient sounds, showing a picture of a fireplace. It looks like she is spending the rest of the night in. Like the good husband that I am, I spread the white throw blanket across her lap. She won’t miss me if I leave; she won’t even notice.
I continue down the hallway to our room, and with a flip of the switch, the light turns on. I search the closet for something more casual. Once I take off my slacks, I hang them neatly on the velvet hanger that I have specifically for my work clothes. The metal hook slides precisely next to the row of freshly ironed pants. Next, I neatly hang up my silk, black shirt. Buttoning up every button, making sure it stays snug on the hanger. It fits neatly next to the other button-up shirts, hanging in a long row in my walk-in closet–all in order by color.
My black T-shirt is hanging up exactly where I left it, sitting next to the other row of shirts, which are also categorized by their color. It fits comfortably but clings tightly to my arms. I reach for a pair of dark gray sweats and pull them up over my thighs. They sit perfectly just below my hips. My white and black Nike tennis shoes mold perfectly around my feet. They are where they’resupposed to be on my small white shelf in my closet, next to the few others that I own. Each is a different color to match my different color-coordinated outfits. My reflection stares back at me in the large mirror in my bathroom. A few strands of auburn curls hang just above my eyebrows.
Walking towards the front door, I notice Ashley still sleeping soundly on the couch. She hasn’t stirred since I covered her up with her favorite blanket. I walk quietly through the front door and shut it slowly so I don’t wake her. My run begins through the black iron gate that’s attached to the iron fence, which runs around our property. The gate squeaks loudly as I push it open. The brisk wind hits me when I turn towards the long sidewalk. With every gust of air, the hair on my arms stands up, and I push myself through the cold. I need to clear my head.Anything I can do to distract myself from thoughts of Thalia.
I shouldn’t be having these feelings, Ican’tbe having these fantasies. I’m a married man. Fuck, I don’t even know this woman. Her face flashes across my mind, and it clouds my vision. In my head, I see her smiling up at me through the whiskey glass she hands me.Damn, she’s beautiful even through thick glass.My legs keep pumping through the cold air.
She’s just a listener, like the other thousands you already have.Keep telling yourself that.
Nothing special, just another listener.
My legs move faster around the corner.Maybe if I push myself harder, I’ll think about something else.With more exertion, my breath gets heavier. The heavy breathing only makes my thoughts worse.
I imagine our heavy breaths syncing in tandem while she lies underneath me. She sweetly moans my name as Imove inside her.Fuck. She’s just another listener, just another listener and nothing more.
My legs move faster and harder, and I come up on my property.“Thalia, what have you done to me?”I mentally ask myself while quietly walking back inside my house, my heaving breaths the only outward sign of my internal struggle.
The Alley
The sound of my leather gloves gripping my steering wheel fills the interior of my car, breaking the silence of being alone.Watching. I am parked just far enough to be out of Thalia’s view, but close enough that I can get a perfect view of her.
My car sits on the curb in front of another bar across from The Neon Rose Lounge, situated between two cabs. I move my hood up around my head and hide in the shadows. The street lights bounce off the pavement, reflecting on the smooth surface. Inside my car is silence. All of my attention is on the woman I can’t get enough of.
As expected, Thalia is working. Knowing exactly where she is and what she is doing at this very moment fills me with a sense of relief.
Another squeaking sound of the leather permeates the front end of the car as I shift in my black leather seat when I see her. Her bright red hair stands out in contrast to her white T-shirt. Who knew a simple item of clothing would look so fucking perfect on her? The loose-fitting fabric hugs her tits in just the right way.The cropped hem exposes her pale flat stomach, showing the sunflower tattoo peeking out from her jeans. I would love to run my tongue down the length of the stem along her rib cage.
On anyone else, a cropped T-shirt isn't anything special, but when Thalia wears one, it’s fucking amazing. Her body is perfection, much like Venus de Milo. I would worship her body just as the Greek god Hephaestus adored Aphrodite. Oh, how I would love to slide my hands up the space between the fabric and her skin. I look hard at her figure while I bite my lower lip as it lifts just slightly as she reaches for one of the liquor bottles on the top shelf.
Her hands grip the silver cocktail mixer as she pours liquid into the short whiskey glass. She shoots the customer a smile and slides the glass in front of him. The corners of my mouth move up just seeing her smile. I could watch her all day. His tattooed covered hand reaches for the glass with his fingers grazing over the top of her hand. The way he makes her jump makes me sit up in my seat, and I watch this asshole closer.
His long, dark hair is pulled up away from his face and off his shoulders. His sad excuse of tattoos looks like black blobs on his tanned neck. I’ve seen this guy come in before. Every Friday, as I’ve driven past the bar, I noticed he sits in front of Thalia and asks for the same drink. Normally, he’s just full of one-liners and uncomfortable stares. Today, he went too fucking far. He stares closely at Thalia with his mouth wide open. His jaw almost hit the floor like one of those fucking cartoon characters, all while turning his head and following her as she moves to the other end of the bar. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, making my fingers inside my gloves tense up. I can feel my blood start to boil, and my mind goesdark.
I wait…
He comes out of the bar shortly after she denies him. His disappointment is short-lived when he reaches into his pocket and grabs his phone. The smug bastard plasters a cocky smile on his face.He’s acting like he didn’t just try to touch what isn’t his.
My eyes trail him as he continues walking down the empty sidewalk.Shit. The cold air hits my face as I step out of my car. My shoes splash in the nearby puddles, the once brick streets long gone, erased with asphalt. He continues to move at what I assume to be his normal pace.Why the fuck does he think he could touch her?My mind is dark, and all I can feel is anger and hate. I follow behind him, far enough that he can’t hear my steps against the wet concrete.
“Hey, baby,” the fucker says, with his phone plastered to the side of his face. “Yeah, I’m just leaving work now. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.” I wonder if his wife, or whoever the fuck “baby” is to him at home, knows he’s been trying to sleep with the bartender at his local bar.Like hell you will.He hangs up and slides his phone into the large front pocket of his dark brown jacket. I pick up my pace, now very close behind his slender form. If he turns around now, he would see the outline of my dick in my pants.
“You work around here?” I ask from behind him with my hands in the pockets of my jacket. He stops.
