by Brian S Creek
He rolls off of me, off the bed, and walks over to my bedroom window.
My friend Charlotte said it hurt her the first time. She had me so worried but that didn’t hurt at all.
That. Was. Amazing.
He was gentle and caring. I’m pretty sure I had my first orgasm too. I’m still tingling. God, I want to do it again.
I reluctantly take my eyes off his perfect butt. “What’s what?”
I grab the covers as a makeshift dress and join him at the window. He’s pointing to the back half of a car that sits beside the garage like some kind of abstract ornament.
“That’s my dad’s car,” I say. “I mean it was. I mean, it’s what’s left.”
“Where’s the rest?”
“No one knows.”
He turns and looks at me then with real thought in his eyes, like he’s solved a complicated equation but he’s worried that he’s wrong.
“The Golden Gate Bridge?” he finally offers.
I forget that my dad wasn’t the only one who disappeared that day. I nod.
“I lost my brother,” he says. “Crazy, right?”
My heart skips. Like the bond we’d just shared then and there on the bed wasn’t enough, we now have something else, something beyond reason. It wasn’t just our bodies that had merged; our history was linked too.
His arms envelope me and I feel safer than I ever have done before.
“Maybe if they did end up somewhere else and they’re still alive, maybe they’ve met. Maybe they’re taking care of each other.”
“Stranger things,” he mumbles.
I feel his arms relax and he lets go.
“I’d better go,” he says.
“Okay.” I try to hide the disappointment. I was still hoping for round two. I sit on the bed and watch him get dressed. He doesn’t look happy anymore. There’s something weighing him down.
“I’ll see you,” he says. A peck on the cheek and he’s out the door.