Faster We Burn

note was all hearts and flowers and things he thought I wanted to hear. He was sorry, and he missed me and he loved me.
    I crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash before I pulled Stryker’s number from my desk drawer. I didn’t even hesitate before I dialed.
    The hour of waiting to go over there nearly killed me. I spent it opening Zack’s presents and figuring out how much they cost him by looking them up online. At least this time he was keeping his distance. I knew I had Zan to thank for that.
    I was actually a little shocked that Stryker was willing to give it a go again, but then he was a guy and I was a girl who was willing to have sex with him. No attachment, no feelings, no clingy girlfriend behavior. Most guys dreamed of that. The only thing that bothered me about our arrangement was the fact that he’d started giving me his opinion. I should probably institute a no-talking rule.
    Lottie was reading when I came back from Stryker’s, feeling satisfied physically, but shitty otherwise.
    “Hey, where have you been? I wanted to know if you were coming to dinner.” She put a bookmark in the book and set it down on her desk. To Kill A Mockingbird , of course.
    “Just went out for a little while. I needed a breather after finding all of this,” I waved my hand at the presents.
    “Yeah I was going to ask, but then I figured it out. He’s getting good with the grand gestures, isn’t he?  I guess he’s had lots of practice.”
    “Whatever.” I gathered up the stuff and shoved it under my bed.
    Out of sight, out of mind.
    Stryker was out of my sight, but he wasn’t out of my mind.
    That night Lottie went to stay with Zan and I was alone, I found a Law and Order marathon and put that on, but the room felt too big. Like it was going to swallow me whole. I paced and bit my nails and picked up my phone and scrolled through the numbers. I couldn’t call Britt or Karina or Ashley. Speaking of them, I still had a wall full of pictures of all of us, and quite a few of me with Zack. No, I couldn’t call them. Those girls who would have told me, once again, that Zack was a great guy and I should figure out how to make it work. Their grinning faces mocked me, so I turned my back on the wall.
    I also couldn’t call Audrey or Trish. They’d drop everything and come over and be all comforting and hover like helicopters, and that wasn’t what I needed either. I was surrounded by a whole bunch of people and I’d never felt more alone.
    I’d known before I picked up my phone who I was going to call. I also knew that he’d pick up.
    “Hi,” I said when he answered after the second ring.
    “Hey. Is something wrong? I can ask you that when you call me in the middle of the night, right?” He only sounded half-awake, his voice husky.
    “No, nothing’s wrong, per se. I’m just here. Alone.” I laughed a little. It seemed like a stupid reason to call when I said it out loud. “I’m sorry for calling you.”
    “Don’t hang up,” he said, as if he sensed that I was going to. “I wasn’t asleep, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. No, I did not need to think about Stryker’s pants, or what was in them.
    “Oh, good.” We both breathed in unison for a moment.
    “What were you doing?” Maybe I didn’t want to know the answer. I almost heard him formulating a snarky response, but he chose the truth instead.
    “Drawing.”
    “Drawing?” I could see that, I guess. With the tattoos and everything.
    “Yeah. I’ll show sometime. If you decide you want whatever this is to extend beyond merely a physical distraction.”
    I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “Right now I don’t need a physical distraction. Just a verbal one.”
    I heard the smile in his voice. “I think I can do that.”
    So he started talking. About how he still didn’t know what he wanted to do when he graduated, even though he’d already gotten internship offers from more than a few companies. About his favorite bands and how he felt the first time he heard The Beatles and how he’d taught himself to play most of his instruments and read music. I listened as he talked and the passion in his voice was so strong that it made me sad, and jealous that I didn’t feel like that about anything.
    I remembered feeling that way about things in the past, but it had been years. I missed it.
    “What’s your favorite song?” I said to try to distract myself from my depressing lack of