and gave it to him,
and he still thinks he gets to stand there,
clothed in mystery.
No. I want him naked and bleeding too when I walk.
“Not some vague bullshit.
“Not‘some’.
“Give me a number.”
He runs both hands down his face,
pausing at his mouth, holding back a scream.
Or the fucking number.
Then he’s shaking his head.
“The number doesn’t fuckin’ matter.
“None of ‘em fuckin’ matter.”
His eyes hit mine, full of desperation.
“You wanna know a number, Sonny?” he snaps, chest rising.
“One.
“You’re theonlyoneI’m real with.
“TheonlyoneI fuckin’ care about.
“The only one I've ever wanted.
“Theonlyone.
“One.
“You.
“That’s it.
“That’s the only number that matters to me.”
I let the silence devour him.
“You killed it up there,” I tell him.
It’s almost a whisper
because I’m forcing it out.
“You on stage? Worth staying for.”
I rip my gaze off him.
