Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Slowly.
Steadily.
My scars itch.
Even as I want more, they itch and prickle under my clothes.
And unfortunately that’s just about the moment I know this show has to come to an end.
“I’d better run,” I announce. “It was nice meeting everyone.”
I pull my arm back from her, hating the way she moves with me on instinct. Hating the way I have to force my body from hers.
She’s confused. I see it in her eyes.
“Well, I, um…” she begins, as everyone watches on. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“You will,” I say.
And then I leave.
Quickly enough that I don’t change my mind.
Abigail
For all the glitz and sparkle and optimism of having Leo at my side with his arm around my waist, there’s a part of me that realises the futility of this crazy pairing.
People just don’t meet like we did and manage to make an actual relationship out of it.
Even the thought is crazy.
Beyond crazy.
It should be a relief to dismiss it as an unfortunate case of social precedents forced upon us, but it isn’t.
Knowing his name should have meant little more than confirmation of the fact he’s not a total psycho, but it means everything.
I can’t stop thinking of him. Speaking his name in my mind. Hissing out his name as I come at night with my fingers inside me. Saying his name out loud as I stare in the mirror and touch the love bites on my neck.
The grilling I got from my friends was worth every second of awkwardness.
Having him at my side felt nicer than it ever should have.
And now he’s gone.
No sign of him over the weekend. No ominous presence waiting in the darkness for me to venture outside. I know that, because I find myself outside a lot. Walking. Waiting. Lingering and hoping.
The next working week gets off to a perfectly regular start without any sign of him jumping out at me.
The guys ask if he’s going to be joining us for the next night out at Diva’s and it feels pretty disappointing to have to say it’s unlikely. He doesn’t join us. Not that week and not the next, either. His marks have all but gone from my neck and it feels like I’ve lost him.
Leo.
My pussy aches for him. I ache for him.
So I keep myself busy. I call people from back in Hampshire and keep on top of social media. I spend evenings at Sarah’s place, or she at mine. I take walks for the hell of it and enjoy them.
I try not to be agitated at the radio silence. I try not to worry about the passing time and whether he’s grown tired of me already.
In the main I do a good job of it, but by the time the second weekend comes and goes without hide nor hair of him I’m reaching the end of my tether.
I didn’t want to use the phone number he called me from that evening in Diva’s. I didn’t want to have to ground this thing in something so ordinary as a telephone conversation.
I fear he’s not going to leave me any choice, so midway through my next working week without him, I dig my phone from my handbag and try his number.
It rings and rings. My heart drops when I know he’s not about to answer, but still I wait around for his voicemail.
It’s generic. An automated voice reading out the number I dialled and asking me to record a message.
I record a simple one, as calmly as I can manage to pull off.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m just… waiting…” I take a breath. “I hope you show up soon.”
He doesn’t. Not that night and not the night after, nor even the weekend after that.
I call again and it rings back through to the same voicemail.
This time I don’t leave one.
I check online and reactivate my deleted profile. His is greyed out and unavailable.
I search for Leos in Malvern with tattoos and unsurprisingly find nothing at all worth anything.
Part of me worries something has happened to him. Part of me worries about the fact that something could happen to him and I’d never even know it.
Part of me wants to know where the hell he is and what’s taking up so much of his time that he can’t at least send me a message back in return.
A see you soon, or even a thanks but no thanks.
Anything would be better than being ignored.
I’m in deep with someone who I’ve never even kissed properly, even though I’ve taken his dick in all the way.
I feel invisible again, just like I did with Stephen in the aftermath of the great explosion. Questioning whether any of this ever meant anything at all.
Whether he was just a guy out for a good time and now he’s done.
I don’t want to believe it.
I don’t want to believe my monster is gone.