Chapter Nine
Some fucker handed me my phone before I left, walking down the road to the taxi rank, because I didn’t come on my ride. Incognito, see. Not that it fucking worked.
I was in the cab, kinda relieved that my phone was safe, I mean, it’s a shit phone, but I never got around to replacing it, and then my hours were cut, and so, it’s just what it is.
I’d been meaning to add a passcode, but it’s just like everything.
I’ll get to it. Hopefully nobody stole any shit while they had it though.
The last app opened wasn’t an app as such, but my phonebook, and when I glanced down the list, looking for god knows what, I found something. A new entry.
“Claudia from the club?”
Claudia? Was it her? Was this her number?
Or was it some cruel trick someone like that Grimm bastard had cooked up, just to fuck with me?
I could make a right cunt of myself if it’s someone like him, rather than the woman I felt so close up against me tonight, and wanted to spend the rest of my life touching like that.
Claudia. If that was her name, it was so pretty.
Actually the name of my favourite character from Warehouse 13, but that’s just because I enjoy snarky characters in everything.
They always add a dimension that… Jesus…
is that how I behave around everyone? Being the snarky fucker, but always getting it wrong?
I laid my head back against the headrest with a groan.
What the fuck was I doing with my life? Everything was going to crap.
Everyone was against me. I was being thrown into a dangerous situation, and used as a pawn by both sides.
I couldn’t even get fucking laid, that’d take the edge off.
It had to. Guess it’s just me and my damn hand tonight.
By the time I was in bed in my shitty little tent, I stared at the empty message box I’d opened up with ‘Claudia’, wondering what the hell to say that would tell me if it was really her or not. Something she’d know but anyone else wouldn’t.
Hmmm.
Me: Is this my sweet dancing partner?
That was lame, but you can’t take a text back. Or can you? Jesus fuck! I tapped the message to look for options, but before I could delete it, a response popped up.
Claudia: I’m glad you got your phone back. Thank you for the dance.
Still not sure.
Me: I’m sorry it ended so abruptly. I was really enjoying it.
Was that wrong to say? Would it sound like I was blaming her for it ending? It wasn’t her fault, it was that psycho bitch sister who fucked it all up. What was her problem with me anyway?
Claudia: I’m sorry about Marissa. She’s overprotective, and it’s kind of a nightmare.
Huh. She called it a nightmare, so maybe she wasn’t any happier about it than me. The phone buzzed again in my hand as a new message appeared.
Claudia: That was wrong of me, I know she loves me, she just panics.
Panics, my ass. I think she gets jealous of her sister having attention on her, not that I thought she wanted my attention specifically, because she clearly hated my sexy ass, but just attention in general.
Me: You’re a perfectly capable human being, why does she feel the need to be your guardian angel?
Fuck me, I’m chatting with her! And I mean, since she’s not going to be able to talk to me on the phone, this is the closest we’d get to a call, right?
She was taking a while to reply, and I wondered if I’d offended her, because her other replies had been fairly rapid.
I just kept getting bouncing dots, then nothing, then bouncing dots.
It was shredding my fucking nerves as I waited.
If she blocked me, would I even know, or would I be staring at this chat for the rest of my life, wondering?
Claudia: She’s always looked out for me, that’s all. She’s older, by minutes, and she sees herself as my protector, especially since we were twelve. Maybe I shouldn’t have moved in with her, because it’s making her make me crazy.
That was her longest message so far, so if she needed time to compose them, could I really complain?
Me: What happened when you guys were twelve?
Was that a dumb question? Was it too nosy? Was it a natural way to carry out a conversation? Fuck me, am I this shit that I can’t hold a damn messaging conversation with a person?
Claudia: I could hear until then. I got sick, and lost a sense. It’s not like someone did that to me. It just happened.
Oh hell. So she’d been able to hear for twelve years?
That’s fucking awful. How the hell did she cope with that transition?
Was it sudden? Did it go gradually? I had so many questions, but I didn’t want our conversation to focus on that, because it was clearly a long time ago. She looked about my age, after all.
Me: I’m sorry about that night in the club. The first one. I’m so used to chicks ignoring me that I kinda lost my shit. It wasn’t cool.
Claudia: Are you being kind to the deaf lady because you realise it’s a dick move? FYI chicks is what assholes call women. You’re saying you’re not one, aren’t you?
Fuck fuck fuck. She was already seeing through my bullshit, only it wasn’t bullshit, was it? This was me. The real me, no fronting, no bigging myself up, or trying to impress the guys, just being myself.
Me: I didn’t mean to offend. I’m used to hanging around with a bunch of guys who say that shit, I guess it rubbed off on me.
She sent an emoji, a blushing face with big wide eyes. Shock? Horror? Who the fuck knows.
Claudia: I rather enjoyed you rubbing on me. Is that too forward?
Holy shit!
Claudia
It was risky. It was insane of me to even put my number into some random guy’s phone, but I swear I could still feel that kiss.
I mean, I’d literally had my vibrator in my hand, and the memory of that kiss in my head, when he messaged.
I didn’t get off yet, but this felt like the most delicious foreplay.
Did that mean I was being too risqué? Was I being dumb by talking like this to a guy I didn’t know?
What if we met up and he jumped me, thinking that’s what I was up for?
I stared at the discarded vibrator and giggled. Wasn’t I?
Unknown: I enjoyed that too. Kinda wanna do it again. A lot. Is *that* too forward?
I was biting my lip, picturing him and me dancing together, imagining how it’d feel to be wrapped in those strong tattooed arms again, remembering how sweet it was that he’d used an app to tell me what song was playing. How he seemed to intuitively know I needed reassurance in that moment.
Me: I don’t even know your name. Surely I should know what to call you before we even think of… doing anything ‘forward’.
I wondered if it was something sexy, something gothic and tragic, or if it’d be something normal like Steve, or Dave.
Eric. Nigel. Neil. Simon. I was hoping for a little more intriguing, but just because he was sporting serious guyliner tonight, didn’t mean he wasn’t just an average guy every other day.
Unknown: Stag. That’s my name, and it probably sounds weird as fuck. I’m a biker, we all have different names with the club, usually for a good reason. Mine isn’t, just an FYI.
Stag. He was named after a male deer. Stag? What the hell did it mean? In US terms, it probably meant he was a loner, going alone to things like parties, which would at least mean he’s single. He had to be single, right?
Me: Stag because you go places alone? You’re not in a relationship, right?
Always put those important questions out there, I mean, I really want to see him again, and I don’t want to find out he’s seeing someone. I hoped he wasn’t ‘that’ guy.
I updated his name in my contacts, and waited for his response. It was taking a little longer than I’d hoped for. Was he coming up with a story?
Stag: No, it’s because I lost a fight with an actual stag. It’s a fun story, really. It’s why I have two big scars on my body. Fucker was mean. All I did was bump it with a car. And I’m definitely single. Painfully so.
Painfully so? What a strange way to put it, but then maybe it’d been a while for him too.
Well, there’s my confirmation, right? He’s not in a relationship, and I want to see him again, I want to talk to him, or talk and watch his lips for answers.
At least he’d know why I’m watching them.
Sometimes people think I’m hitting on them when I do that, although with him, maybe I would be.
I knew how those lips felt now. Knew he was good with his tongue.
Oh yeah, my vibrator was definitely getting lucky tonight.
Me: Maybe one day I’ll get to see those scars, and you can tell me the whole story…
What am I doing?! That was like throwing myself at him, and we’d met twice, once while he yelled at me, and the second when I stuck my tongue down his throat like a slut.
Still, I’d do it again given half the chance.
There was something so sexy about him, but also so vulnerable.
He looked like he’d been hurt in the past, and was learning to trust again.
I could be that person for him. I could give him a reason to trust again.
Stag: I’d like that. I’m learning to sign, but it’s not easy. Any tips on getting better at it?
And that was a perfectly sensible response, perfectly logical too, because he probably felt like signing would give us a better chance to talk, but I wanted his hands so busy he’d have to make the words on my skin, instead of in the air.
Me: I’ll send you a link to some classes. I teach there too. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.
Oh how I hoped we would. The lights came on out in the hallway, made so obvious by the fact that my light was off, and just my nightlight was delicately illuminating my room.
Was she listening? Did she somehow know I was chatting with him?
She’d accused me of that very thing before, and yet it hadn’t been true. Now it was.
I slid the phone under my pillow in a rush, and hid the vibrator, just in case she decided to ‘check in on me’, and that’s how I fell asleep.