Chapter 9
JOSHUA
The airport is crowded, but I barely notice anything that’s going on around me.
The hum of conversations, the clatter of suitcases rolling over the tiled floors, the distant calls of boarding announcements ring out through the large space, but to me, it all feels muted, distant, like I’m not really here.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be here.
I want to be where my mind is; still back in that hotel room, expecting to turn over and see Molly beside me, her tousled hair spread over the pillow, her lips curling into that knowing little smirk she has.
In my mind, I lean over and kiss her, and she kisses me back with that frantic hunger she had last night.
I get on top of her, and I’m about to penetrate her tight little pussy …
“Sir? Sir? Step forward please,” a female voice says loudly. I half hear it, but it’s not until the person behind me in the line for check-ins nudges me and tells me it’s my turn do I realize that she’s talking to me.
I hurry forward and go through the motions of checking in.
I’m so distracted that when the process is complete and the check-in agent wishes me a good flight, I say you too instead of thank you.
I cringe inside at that. How on earth does Molly still have this much of an effect on me when she’s not even here?
Maybe it’s because we didn’t really get any sort of closure, because she was already sneaking out of my room when I woke up.
I hadn’t really given the morning after the night before a lot of thought when the night was happening, but if pressed, I guess I would have said that yes, I would wake up beside Molly.
We would hug and say our goodbyes. We might even fuck again.
But I can’t be mad at her for sneaking away, and to be honest, I shouldn’t really be so surprised.
We didn’t make promises to each other, and we didn’t exchange numbers.
We didn’t even pretend that it was more than what it was; a reckless, drunken night in Vegas.
Yes, it was amazing, and yes, I would do it again in a heartbeat, but not everything fun has to have a deeper meaning.
And I guess we didn’t have the connection I felt like we had.
But we did though. I know we did. And I think that’s the hardest part of it; the one woman I have felt anything other than a fleeting attraction to in years and she’s unattainable.
I shake my head and shift my carry-on bag from one had to the other one, adjusting to the weight that suddenly feels heavier.
I have got to stop thinking about this or I’m going to drive myself crazy.
It’s going to be hard to forget Molly though, and that’s even without the new ink on my arm. What the hell possessed us to do that?
I guess in the moment, it felt romantic but now it just seems ridiculous in the cold morning light.
It had felt like a declaration last night, something bold and impulsive, something that meant something.
Now, in the sober daylight, it’s just a mistake.
A remnant of a night that wasn’t supposed to matter but somehow does.
I rub a thumb over it, as if I could scrub it away.
I can get it removed, and I probably will.
But the problem isn’t the ink. Not really.
I know I can remove that easily enough. The problem is her.
Molly. She won’t be so easy to remove though, and I know that it doesn’t matter whether I have the tattoo or not, because I don’t need a tattoo to remember Molly and our one wild night together.
Let me just say that I am not crazy. I’m not some stalker type who fucks someone and thinks we should get married and have three kids. But something about Molly makes me feel that way. I know it’s not normal, but that doesn’t change the way I feel.
I am obsessed with this girl, and yet there is so much I don’t know about her. Certainly, there is more I don’t know about her than there are things that I do know about her. I don’t even know her last name.
I don’t know where she’s from, or what her favorite movie is. I don’t know whether she prefers coffee or tea. I don’t know if she wants children. I don’t know what she thinks about travelling abroad or going to the movies. I don’t know what she likes to eat.
But I do know how she laughs when she’s tipsy, how her eyes darken when she’s daring me to do something reckless.
I know the way she felt beneath my hands, the way she whispered my name like she’d known me forever.
I know the way her eyes roll back in her head when she comes, and I know how my name sounds as she whimpers it.
I don’t know anything real, yet somehow, the things I do know seem more important.
They must hold some significance because the truth is, I can’t shake my thoughts of her.
I feel like I can still smell her, still taste her.
I feel like if I turn around, she will be there and I can pull her into my arms and kiss her, and this time, I won’t let her go.
I sigh and get my cell phone out of my pocket and check it, as if there’s a chance that there’s going to be some miraculous text from a number I don’t have.
There isn’t. Of course there isn’t. She walked away first, and I let her.
I’m the one obsessing, not her. She’s most likely already forgotten my name.
Maybe that’s for the best though. Maybe it keeps the night intact, a perfect, untouchable memory. Maybe chasing her down would have ruined whatever magic we managed to capture between the shots of whiskey and the laughter filled dares.
I reach security, the point of no return. If I go through here, I’m going back to my life and letting Molly become a memory. If I go back … No, I can’t go back.
I roll my shoulders and straighten my spine, and I join the line of people waiting to go through the scanners.
It’s time to go home. It’s time to take responsibility for my new company and shake this off, to let it be what it was; a fun, wild night with a stranger, a last night of madness before I have to become sensible and grown up.
The problem is, I don’t t feel like Molly is a stranger anymore.