For A Good Time, Call... by Jessica Gadziala Page A

listening to
you.” Jesus Christ that was hot. The image flew into my head
and I pushed my thighs together to try to ease the chaos there. “Then
when I heard you call out my name when you came...” he trailed
off, shaking his head like he couldn't find the right words.
    There
was a pregnant silence between us then, both of us lost in thought.
Him probably about my work, about me masturbating to the idea of him
while he listened. I kept thinking about our failed attempts to get
closer. To be intimate. I wondered if I should tell him. Just bite
the bullet and get it over with.
    “Hey,”
he said, breaking through my swirling thoughts. “whatever put
that look on your face... stop thinking about it.”
    “Hunter...”
    “No,”
he said, shaking his head and getting to his feet. He reached a hand
down toward me and I took it. “You don't owe me an explanation.
I'm assuming there is some issue with actual, real life sex for you,
right?”
    “Yeah.”
You have no idea. You wouldn't want me if you knew.
    “Okay,”
he said, still holding my hand though I was on my feet. It felt good.
I don't ever remember having someone hold my hand. It was no wonder
new couples always did it. It felt like comfort. Like stability. “So
now I know,” he said. “It's not a big deal,” he
said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on my forehead.
    He
was lying. I knew that. I knew it was a big deal. Sex was always a
big deal. When you were
having it, it was a big deal. And when you weren't having it, it was
a big deal. “Okay,” I said. Not believing him, but
without the energy for a fight either.
    “Why
don't we get you to the kitchen and get some food in you to
counteract that blood loss? And I'll go try to fix your door.”
    I
sat in my kitchen nibbling on the cold, chewy spaghetti while me
worked. I was glad for the distance. I needed to think. I needed to
get my guards back up.
    It
had been a long time since I had that dream. And even when I did have
it, it was usually as a third party. Like I was looking on at the
scene. But tonight I had been inside my little body, I heard all the
swirling thoughts, I felt the cold, I felt the pain, I felt the
screams bursting from my mouth. It had felt as real as it had
thirteen years ago. It was like reliving it.
    Under
my breasts and under my panties, my scars felt raw and painful. They
felt fresh and burning. I half expected to see bright red, bloody
messes when I changed later instead of the pinky-white weirdly smooth
skin I knew was there.
    The
clock on my stove told me it was just after one in the morning.
Though to be fair, I didn't think any worse damage could come of the
next three hours than had come in the past three. This was going to
be one of those nights that I flicked around the TV endlessly,
wincing whenever I moved my leg or something brushed across my cuts.
But it was only a few hours and then I could sleep. Then things could
go back to usual.
    Or,
as usual as my life could be.
    “Alright,”
Hunter said, walking back into the room, a little sweaty from
whatever he had been doing. “I put some boards up over the
split. It's not perfect, but it will hold until I can replace...”
    “You
don't have to...”
    “I
broke it,” he cut in. “I fix it.”
    “Okay,”
I conceded because better sense told me that there was no use arguing
with him. “I'm... sorry I woke you up,” I said when the
silence stretched awkward.
    “Hey
nothing like a little mild heart failure to keep you young,” he
said, giving me a smile that I could only describe as flirtatious.
“So... you alright?” he asked, watching my face. “I
could stay...”
    “I'm
fine,” I said automatically. It was knee-jerk. I was always
fine. As if reading my thoughts, his brow lifted. “No
seriously,” I added, waving a hand. “I'm alright. I'm
gonna watch a movie, wait for the sun to rise, then get some rest.”
    “Alright,”
he said, pushing off the doorway and moving toward me. His hands
cradled my face