Pen Pal

by J.T. Geissinger

When someone dies, you start counting all the ways you failed them.

I read somewhere that grief is more than an emotion. It’s a physical experience, too. All kinds of nasty stress chemicals get released into the bloodstream when a person is grieving. Fatigue, nausea, headaches, dizziness, food aversion, insomnia… The list of side-effects is long. I’ve got them all.

What are you waiting for? I mail it before I lose my nerve. It takes a week before I get a response, and it’s even shorter than mine. In fact, it’s only one word. You.

“I knew one of those once. She was only four-foot-ten, but she scared the living shit outta me.” I smile at him. “Even small dragons can still breathe fire.”

How I need to touch you. How I need to hear your voice. I can’t, of course, because I’m here and you’re there, but the distance doesn’t make the longing go away. I can still taste your skin. Dante

I mean, if the poor guy is only locked up because he’s got some kind of mental illness that wasn’t diagnosed and he should really be medicated, not incarcerated, that’s one thing.

In case you haven’t noticed, women are actual individuals. So are you going to act like a human being now or are you leaving?”

It’s easy to forget that everybody else has problems when you’re so caught up in your own.

“Johnnie Walker Blue,” I tell him. “Three fingers. Neat.” “Nice,” he says, nodding. As if I give a shit about his opinion.

“Yeah, it looks like all kinds of fun.” That stings. I break eye contact and sip from the new glass of whiskey. “It’s worth it. No matter how bad it can get, no matter if it all falls apart in the end, it’s worth every minute.”

“Because I think you’re beautiful. Sad, a little bitchy, but fucking beautiful. I want you to come home with me tonight.”

“Look at me, Kayla.” “I can’t. I might melt into a flaming puddle of embarrassment.” “You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you want to fuck me.” “Oh my God! Will you listen to yourself?”

My heart pounding painfully hard, I say faintly, “You’re insane, is that it? You’re a crazy person.” “You know I’m not.” “I can honestly say I don’t even know my own name right now.” “It’s Kayla,” he says softly, then leans in and presses his lips against mine. It’s barely a kiss. There’s no tongue. There’s hardly any pressure. It’s only the slightest brush of his mouth over mine, then it’s over. And I’m gasping.

“My plan is to get you naked and find out how you sound when you come.”

“Thank you. I think you’re interesting, too.” His voice drops. “Those eyes of yours are fucking amazing.” My cheeks and ears grow hot again. The heat burns even hotter when he adds, “I want those eyes open when you come for me.”

“I’m really sorry about this. I promise I’m not a giant basket case. I’m just a little one.” Looking very serious, he strokes a strand of damp hair off my cheek. He murmurs, “You’re not anything but beautiful.” After a pause, he adds, “You don’t have to freak out about that, either. I don’t try to seduce traumatized women who run in from the rain.”

“How do you want me to fuck you, sweet Kayla?”

“Never met a woman who thinks louder than you do.” “Sorry. I’m always up in my head.”

Aidan says softly, “Your body gets really tense when you start to freak out.”