Booty Call
She calls me in the middle of the night. At one or two or three , even at five sometimes.
Fridays, Saturdays or Saturdays and Sundays depending on how you look at it.
Asking me, what am I doing?
Asking me, am I at home?
Asking me, could she come over?
I tell her, nothing, yeah, okay.
My speakerphone is busted so she texts me: "Outside" and while I wait for the elevator to climb what could sometimes be seven stories, she calls me.
"It's freezing out here!"
I'm her safe card and some nights not even that.
It all depends.
Friday night, four in the morning. No calls. That small sting of jealousy - she's out fucking somebody else. And I can't help but imagining, how would it be having sex one phone call away?
I let her in. It takes until we are inside my apartment before we speak. I think she's been crying, the mascara making her eyes look like ashtrays. Her breath smells of alcohol and cigarettes.
It used to be we were together. Then she met this other guy, and now we're not.
She went to the bathroom - threw up.
Then we fucked.
