Me:“Some just burn without the flame.”
A smile beams as I stare down at the screen.
Chase:You got it.
Me:We finally have a bridge.
Chase:Someone once told me that all the best songs have bridges.??
My pulse thrashes in response. Recollection. Memories from eight months ago swim through my mind: Chase, a broken stranger, bleeding out on his couch, and my inherent need to offer a small solace for when he finally breached the other side of it.
Me:The strongest ones don’t burn.
I’m zeroed in on the screen, waiting for a follow-up, when a new text message from Kenna flashes, laced with her usual brand of debauchery.
Kenna:Nipple clamps. Yay or nay?
I snort, the introspective moment effectively broken.
Me:For you?
Kenna:No, for my vast succulent collection. Yes for me. I need you to talk me off the ledge or give me a shining endorsement.
Sorry, Kenna.
I’ve got nothing.
Me: Um…undecided? Never used them.
Kenna:I kind of love how vanilla you are. So cute. So pure.
Me:Shush it. I can be kinky when it counts. And are you getting your freak on by yourself or is there a new guy I don’t know about?
Kenna:????
Me:Kenna! Name.
I switch over to Chase’s text thread, checking to see if he replied.
My last message shows Read.
No response.
Kenna:His name is Tyler. I haven’t slept with him yet. Just a blow job. But you know I hate giving blow jobs, so that tells you I’m serious.
I chuckle.
Me:I love giving blow jobs. Is that weird?
I give her a few minutes to respond, but nothing comes through.
Leaning back in the chair, I set my phone on my thigh and finish thecigarette in a few more puffs, watching as the billowing branches sweep across the moon like ink dragging over an antique page. The phone dings a reply as I’m crushing out the stub in a midnight-hued ashtray.
Chase:I don’t think it’s weird. But it’s a little weird you’re telling me that.
I blink at the corresponding name. Lurch forward in the chair.
Chase…?
