He looks away fast,
an embarrassed laugh hitting him.
“You love torturin’ me, huh?
“Sick fuckin’ hobby you got.”
He drags me right back,
eyes refusing to meet mine
until his mouth’s back on me.
He kisses me once on the lips,
then the forehead.
“You ready to come back to Earth with me?”
He turns to pack up our things,
but it’s clumsy,
hands fumbling through our stuff,
trying to act like the kiss didn’t rattle him.
When, suddenly, he freezes,
fist tight around the blanket, whole body stiff.
“Oh, fuck,”he mutters, blanket dropping,
fingers flying to his temples.
“What’s wrong?”
He turns, patting his pockets,
pulling his phone back out, but it's dead.
His shoulders drop, and he swallows.
Then: “Sonny…”
His grin’s gone, voice without color.
“Lemme get your phone.”
He can’t look at me.
“I fucked this up bad. Real bad.”
I grab my clutch,
dig for my phone,
unlock it,
