4.

He never called back.

Not that night, or the ones that followed.

Still, I tortured myself for a few more nights by leaving my phone on—but no. I’d fucked up where he was concerned. He wasn’t that crazy.

Or maybe he was a lot crazier. Or less keen than I’d thought.

He’d been a pain in the ass from beginning to end, the tub of lard.

 

And life—how did I put it again?—“went back to normal.”

There you have it.

 

Shit.