Spilled Ink (Currently undergoing updates.)

nooffswitch1227:

I.

     ”You’re joking, right? I mean, seriously, it’s just the wine talking,” he replied, hesitantly. She could sense his curiosity and skepticism by the longevity of the pause between her initial question and his response.

“I’m completely sober and no jokes, remember, I’m not funny,” she retorted with a chuckle and a sly grin hidden behind the anonymity of a flickering screen.  

“Woman, you are fucking crazy, but yeah, I’m always up for company,” he shot back. This time with more eagerness.

“Let me make a few calls. I’ll be in touch,” she said quickly, before either of them could chicken out.

     A couple hours later, arrangements had been made. She was always crafty when challenged with a unfamiliar task. The chase was the part she loved; she was a pro. The risk was something which generally held her back. This time, she simply threw caution to the wind. There was something about the entire scenario that put her more at ease. No longer would she let fear hold her back from pursuing uncharted territory.  Fuck it, she thought; I might be crazy, but I’m doing this. Indeed, these sentiments ran through her mind numerous times before she emailed him the info. 

“Aren’t you an enterprising little succubus?” was his reply to the data he received. 

“That’s nothing- I’m afraid you have no idea what you’re in for. Are you sure?” she cautiously asked. 

“Yep. You?”

“Definitely.”

“Then I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you when I land.” 

II.

     ”May I bring you something to drink?” the flight attendant asked in her first class seat voice. “Whiskey, on the rocks, and a splash water,” she answered. She was anxious, exhausted after the crash of running on adrenaline for two days, and dammit if she wasn’t going to take advantage of free drinks.

     She sipped slowly, feeling the warmth of alcohol drip down her throat. Her mind wandered and she smiled at the irony of the word “spirits.” This entire situation revolved around her spirit, her soul, her desperate need to be exalted and her desire for experience. She asked for a second round while gazing at the brilliance of the sun setting through the thick layer of clouds at thirty thousand feet. 

     Halfway through the second drink, her body began to relax, and her thoughts slowed to a steady pace. Liquid courage began coursing through her veins, yet her mind was uncannily focused. Even if it doesn’t turn out exactly as she hoped, at least she’ll have something to write about. 

III.

     Although the hour was late, her body caught it’s usual midnight-hour second wind. She was eternally grateful for this because she was hoping fatigue wouldn’t ruin what she hoped was just the beginning of her evening. The liquor in the sky sedated her excitement enough, thankfully, because at that moment she felt like climbing out of her skin with trepidation. 

     She wheeled her bag down the walkway and reached in her purse for her phone. She sent a short “I’m here” via text and adjusted her dress as she made her way to the pick up point. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive. He’d been waiting for the sound of a message received for what seemed like an eternity. He too was alive with anticipation. She saw the vehicle he described pulling up to the curb, so she smiled and waved. This was more out of habit than necessity because she knew damn good and well he could spot her from a block away. She stood out in that crowd and his weren’t the only eyes on her as she waited. But his eyes, his smile… those were the only ones she wanted.

     He confidently approached her and she succumbed to his embrace the second her hand released the handle of her suitcase. Just as promised, his lips met hers, firmly, knowingly. She teetered on heels and took a wobbly step backwards. 

“Hey. How was your trip?”

“Not sure yet. I just got here. I’ll let you know,” she whispered, playfully, catching her breath.

He gave her a crooked smile and said, “You’re right, hop in. I’m ready for the journey to begin.”

IV.

     He shut her door and she watched him with amusement as he walked around the truck and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You did not just say that,” she said sardonically. 

“Say what?”

“That you’re ready for the ‘journey to begin.’ You sound a poet,” she said with a wink.

He met her playful gaze and grinned, “You know it.”

She punched his arm, jokingly. They both wore many hats; writers being one they shared. “Okay, okay, point made. Now drive.”

     They headed for the freeway, he playing tour guide, calling her attention to various points of interest in the city. After all, she was here for inspiration, a change of scenery, and this was unfamiliar terrain. She watched him as he spoke, noticing his tranquil speech. She knew he was a natural introvert and wondered if it pained him to talk so much. With that fleeting thought, she put her hand on his arm, “I need to get comfortable. You don’t need to show me these sights tonight. Just get me to bed.”

     ”Yes, ma’am,” he said, authoritatively, and pushed the accelerator; the needle now rested just to the left of 85. She watched the blurring city, but through his window because it allowed her to be nearer to him. Although he kept his eyes on the road, he stroked her hair and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. They watched the city-scape in silence for the remainder of the drive, knowing soon, both of them would only be admiring the scenery of each other’s flesh.