Bait(8)

Beautiful.

Wild.

I don’t know what it is that feels so familiar about this one random woman’s picture. She looks little like Mariana. Mariana was tanned and strong-featured, with dirty eyes and a dirty laugh to match. The woman in the picture reminds me of a black swan, elegant and etheric. Deep. I can’t stop staring at her.

That’s what’s familiar about her maybe. The fact that I can’t stop staring at her.

The darkness in her eyes. The way it feels like her soul is calling through the screen.

Maybe I’m finally breaking down. Maybe this is the moment the clockwork reality I’ve created to get Cam and I through this horrible nightmare crumbles into chaos.

I can’t crumble into chaos.

I read her words again, just to be sure I’m understanding them.

They seem to fucking good to be true.

I’m seeking my monster in the darkness.

I’ll run but you’ll run faster.

We’ll play cat and mouse until you catch me.

I won’t know you, and I’ll pretend I don’t want to.

You’ll pretend you don’t care.

I’ll tell you I don’t want it.

You’ll tell me you’ll take it anyway, and then you will.

And it’ll be rough.

One wild night where anything goes, and then we’ll never see each other again.

The girl may not look like Mariana, but Mariana could have written that profile. Mariana was the one who begged me to bring her fantasy to life.

She was the one who got me hooked on the chase. Addicted to the darkness. The thrill of the hunt.

I shouldn’t entertain the idea of one wild night where anything goes. There’s me and Cam and a business that needs me on top form to navigate the financial pressure of a pending insurance claim.

Maybe this profile isn’t even serious. Maybe she’s just a girl who gets off on flirting with danger – because that’s what this profile is, just one big beacon of recklessness for the dregs and the crazies and the desperate out there.

The thought concerns me more than it should do. She’s at least twenty-five – plenty old enough to make her own dumb decisions. The string of potential assholes I can only assume are flooding her inbox are none of my business. Not my problem.

I’d force myself to click on next and forget about her if it wasn’t for the extra lines of her profile that appear when the screen refreshes.

Please… I might sound crazy, but I need this. I’ve always needed this.

Please help me feel alive again.

I’m not seeking a psycho, just someone who can help me feel alive again.

The words hit me in the gut. Hard.

Mariana’s ghost laughs in my ear.

I’ve always needed this. That’s what she said to me in the shadows the very first night I caught her.

I stare again at the screen. Please help me feel alive again.

Alive again.

Melancholy grips me by the throat. Alive.

It’s been too long.

I wonder what happened to the black swan that took the life from her. I wonder why she needs this.

I wonder how many assholes will be beating down her door for a cheap shot at getting their rocks off.

Many, I’m sure.

My question is simple. Impulsive.

What happened to you?

I’m almost certain she won’t reply. I’m positive I’ll just be one of the masses of messages she sends to the trash bin when she realises this site is full of douchebags.

I’m a heartbeat away from signing out from adult hookup and talking some sense into myself when the message pings.

And I’m one breath away from crazy myself when I bring up her reply.





Four





There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

Edith Wharton





Phoenix



The green online now circle is illuminated next to black swan’s profile photo. Her username is simple and stark, and yet it says so much.

Bait.

Her tagline is new. Her profile unfolding in real time.

Just a girl wanting to feel.

Bait.

She’s bait alright. The predator in me stirs, adrenaline pumping as old memories come flooding back.

Her message comes through in segments, one line at a time.

I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to ask me that question.

I loved hard. I lost harder.

And then I lost everything along with him.

My job. My home. So many people I cared about.

Then I lost the baby too.

I bled my soul out with the life inside me. Bled so hard I nearly disappeared too.

My world spat me out and kept on turning without me.

It was too painful to stay, so I ran.

And here I am, just trying to make a new life.

It’s hard.

It’s really, really hard.

The simple honesty in her words makes my stomach lurch. My own sadness is thick in my throat as I type a reply.

The world has a habit of spitting us out and leaving us behind. I’d like to say you can catch it up again if you run fast enough, but I’m not so sure. I live in hope.