Killing Him

Chapter 12

I winked at Leighton as he pulled the crumpled restaurant receipt with my number on it from his pocket. Then I was gone. I could still see him, but he couldn't see me. He looked around, confused and wary but he looked down again at his large hands and smiled. He tucked it back in his pocket and started walking the opposite way. I heard a low whistle escape his lips, the ones that I had just kissed fiercely. That's not the only thing I wanted to do to him.

I shook the nasty thoughts out of my head and cursed myself. How the fuck was I going to walk all the way back to the restaurant? I was too tired. Fuck my "I have to be mysterious" self. I saw a bike deserted on the ground. I threw back my head and groaned. I grabbed it by the handlebars and cursed myself once again. Piece of shit bike.

As soon as I reached the restaurant I threw the flimsy bike to the side and swung my leg over my baby. A real bike. On the ride home I thought about him. I never stayed on a boy for very long. I knew I couldn't. Not with my "profession". Did I really want to stay in this forever? Not having a social life. Not living a normal life. Being kept up at night thinking of the things I could be. I hadn't thought this way in a while, but this boy, this man, has suddenly resurfaced these thoughts? Something about him. But why was he at the morgue that night? Was he involved with any of that? I'd have to do some research on him tonight. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Yes I was still on my bike. Driving. No one was out anyways. It was like a ghost town. I stopped at a red light and watched the colors of the night. The soft flickering of lamps. I guess that's just how life is, you know? You have your first sip of liquor and it tastes either good, bad, disgusting, wonderful. Depends on your tastes. Either way it burns your throat going down. Some people can stand the burn some can't. But either way, the taste will fade, the bitterness will leave your lips and tongue by morning. Another shot another bottle another sip. The taste fades completely sooner or later, and it just tastes like.. Nothing. That's how life usually is. That's how I was thinking. How I was feeling.

All in one night.

LEIGHTON'S P.O.V.

I woke up this morning. And thought. I thought about everything. I thought about the way your voice sound like a music box, a symphony of chellos. The pitches high and low, the colors of bright crimson and gold bouncing inside your head. And it made me dizzy. Like drinking hard liquor at the crack of dawn, the color fading from your eyes as memories flood back. Your pupils darkening to the sound of my voice. Your breath against my cheek, eyelashes flushed against flesh hand in cheek. And then my pupils darkened as those memories flooded back to me, and my breath hitched. We used to be like instruments, me laughing in b- minor, us kissing in minor, the atmosphere a C sharp. A symphony, a soft stringer you were.

What the fuck was this girl doing to me? I just wrote a poem. Me. Leighton what the hell buddy? I crumpled up the piece of worn paper and tossed it in the trash. One of about ten I wrote.

I doubt I was ever gonna see this girl again. It was a one night thing. But I wanted to see this girl again. And again. But I had to face reality.

I wasn't.