Page 552 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

But instead,

I silence it

and set it face down on the table.

The waitress returns with my coffee.

I drink it slow ‘cause it’s something I can have in a world where everything is slipping away too fast. Even if it tastes nothing like Andrew's coffee.

I stare out the window,

watching cars pass by,

wondering if I’ll ever be able to move forward the way they do⁠—

fast, easy, without looking back.

I don’t know.

// JAN 07, 10:16 PM //

The liquor store bell jingles when I walk in.

I don’t waste time browsing or checking labels. I grab a bottle of whiskey off a specials table at the front and drop it down on the counter.

The man behind the check-out screen looks up.

He’s late thirties, early forties.

Messy sandy brown hair.

Thick dark stubble across his jaw.

He’s staring at me, gaze on my mouth,

my collarbone,

my breasts,

not leaving as his stubby fingers tap the keyboard,

slide the bottle closer,

and scan the barcode.

I tap on the cigarette case.

“And a pack of Newports.”

His throat bobs with a nod.

“You drinkin’ this straight, hon?”

His tongue flicks across his bottom lip, and my brain turns it into Looney Tune porn, where I snatch that tongue, unspool it across the counter, and rub it raw on my clit.

…I could use his mouth.

I could relapse.