Sometimes I just text. Sometimes I want to call. Sometimes I end up here...

Hey human,

 Sometimes I just text. Sometimes I want to call. Sometimes I end up here... writing to myself just to get you off my chest, not like I really have something to stress besides the obvious. I miss you… wondering if…

Well, remember when you said sometimes you need to check out of your life the way other people check out of hotels, quoting somebody else, Alice Sweeney. Is this it? You disappearing like this. I wonder because in the same sentence you said sometimes, we should just let ourselves be swept up to somewhere new, start over, collect acquaintances rather than stay friends. “Just have fun with it Pogue, nothing’s of value if you don’t ever feel what it means…”

I never understood it, not completely...

—

She rolled into me, resting her head on my chest and draping her thigh across my pelvis, her clit against my skin. It was pouring that night. And between her sexual advances, the thunder outside and the flashes of lightning peering through her curtains I knew we’d be doing very little sleeping.

“Hey human.” She fondled with my zipper, her favourite part of my body which was still intact for as long as she wanted, which wouldn’t be long enough, and as long as I wanted which was short change too. Her hand on my phallus had a language of its own, sensory, every time she lurked it was alert. My zipper came down and like clockwork she had me in her cusp, disentangling knots inside of me.

“Don’t worry,” she kissed into my jawline, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” Her moisture hovered over my collar bone as her grip on my mick got firmer, her motion in place— easy and steadfast she began: “Just relax,” her voice trickled down my throat, soft and cool, every part of me succumbing to her mood. Accelerating, her palm glided up, holding onto my erection. She got into position and started ringing her tongue around my sex, leaving my tip like always for last. “Give it away Pogue,” she spoke into it, taking me in her mouth.

“God, I love you,” I expressed, sliding in and out of her wetness like silk, I was letting go, feeling the stock of my juices ready to burst into her.

“If you want to come, come,” she ordered, the thunder incapable of silencing her need to please. And boy was she generous, “That’s it,” she encouraged, planting her lips on mine, climbing on top of me now, wanting her ‘v’ to finish me off.

Hey human

“Sometimes people feel closer than they really are and sometimes they appear farther and they’re really not,” you said, looking into the lake. “Sometimes we get too in touch with our reality that we need somewhere to go,” you turned to look at me, “somewhere to start again, and when it ends or just when it feels like it’s about to, we need to find somewhere else, hoping the next beginning will be the last. Because too much time living invested in the possibility of never taking chances means not doing enough, not saying enough, not being enough even if you think it’s enough.”

I never understood it, not completely….

—

“What have you got there?” Dijana tapped the window, interrupting my blackout. “A journal?” She made a grab for it, luckily my reflexes were quick enough. “I didn’t peg you as the ‘Dear Diary’ type.”

“I’m not,” I shut the book, shoving it into the compartment between the seats. We’d been on the hunt for Reid Garwin. The last guy to see Lexi. Possibly.  The plan: find him, find out who played the League using Lexi as a decoy, if it was even a decoy, and then figure it out from there.

“Any luck?” I asked, unlocking the doors.

“Spoke to his mom.” Dijana pulled out a heart locket. “She gave me this, said it belonged to the pretty girl with curly dark locks.”

I grabbed the locket, opening it with a pin I kept in my glove pocket. “Pretty girl with curly dark locks,” I repeated, staring at Lexi lying in the sand looking back at the camera with her assets edging towards the lake. I remembered that night.  

“Nice photo,” Dijanna complimented, looking over my shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“So, the locket was—”

“A gift… to Lexi.”

“What’s it doing with Reid?”

“Who knows,” I lied, protecting her— Lexi— her reputation or what was left of it. And then it clicked, where to look, perhaps find Reid, how the hell did I forget this? I kicked myself for not thinking about it sooner.

‘He’s just different, like you different, but all good different,’ Lexi would say about Reid, a code I never hacked.