It Wasn’t Love on My Mind ⁽ᵖᵃʳᵗ ³ ᵒᶠ ³⁾
It wasn’t love on my mind when I left the apartment to meet my dreamy British coworker for our date… Nor when I ran into Martha at the Tipsy Elephant and realized that“date” had really meant a “double-date.” But Harry stole some time for just him and I outside and we talked a nice talk — a really nice talk until…
Then came Martha — stumbling, grumbling, moment-ruining Martha — her timing ever impeccable.
“I’m so over this dump. Look what their lack of air conditioning did to my hair! I look like a tumbleweed.”
Samuel ran a hand through the black puffball atop Martha’s head, his fingers catching on a few tangles. “I think it’s hot. And I’d love for you to take a tumble in my weeds.”
Laughs all around, as fake as I’ve ever heard.
“Samuel’s taking me back to his place cause he’s such a sweet gentleman.” Martha slumped against Samuel’s chest. They both went teetering backward.
When I saw them mounting Samuel’s motorbike I shouted, “Hey! There’s no way you’re safe to drive.”
“Kyle. Dude. Chill. I live right up the road; I do this all the time. We’ll be fine.”
They took off in a cloud of dust, carving a line that was anything but straight. Martha waved as they rounded the corner, the shadows sculpting her into a scarecrow. I shook my head.
“I was actually thinking I might head home myself.” Harry’s words broke me. “Maybe, uh… I don’t know.”
“What?” The word fell out of me, more a plea than I intended.
“I was going to offer you a ride…”
I let out a sigh and bit my tongue. Today had been one of chances and I’d been lucky so far. I mulled over the risk. But numbers and probabilities have never been my strong suit, so instead I asked, “Are you sure you’re good to drive? A Grab is literally a dollar-fifty.”
“I mean… I want you to be comfortable. I don’t know, like… Do you trust me? I wouldn’t hurt you.” A crushed innocence echoed in the crackling depths of his voice. My stomach knotted, and I knew then that I would have done anything just to have him smile at me again.
“I know you wouldn’t.”
And he looked at me, his face alight like the north star. My north star.
I sat behind him, my body pressing into his. The smell of him was more intoxicating than any glass of wine or bottle of whiskey.
“You mind?” He asked, a cigarette already wedged between his lips.
“Of course not.”
I did.
We went.
The night welcomed us as we set out chasing the stars. He never asked me where I lived. In truth, I never expected him to. Seeing how he commanded that two-wheel deathtrap, hearing the revving of his engine — which I think he hoped I’d find impressive, despite it sounding like a wounded banshee — I found myself wholly captivated by him, cursing that frat-boy charm of his.
With the closing of my eyes, I gave myself to him. And the world transformed around us. The wind on my skin became his hands caressing my cheeks. The musky air became scented candles burning in a dark room. The rough bumping of the road and the growing headlights blinding me became a sea of white sheets.
So loud… the horn screaming in these plush white shee —
The world was gone. But I was there when it returned.
There were no sheets, just blood. So much blood.
It wasn’t love on my mind when I realized I didn’t know where I was.
It wasn’t love on my mind when I looked at his face. I couldn’t recognize his body.
It wasn’t love I felt. But numb. And cold. Which didn’t make sense…
His blood was so warm.
