She reads the ad one last time, nervously licking her parched lips. So this is what desperation breeds, an ad for sex.
She hits the enter key and waits to see the confirmation code, logging back in she hits the, Yes I'm Sure button. It should read, Yes I'm Sure I Want to Meet a Lot of Crazy Men.
She pours another glass of wine, maybe the empty bottle has a lot to do with her decision to post an ad in the personals section of the sex chat site.
Her screen blinks and she sees a response already, reading online now.
Downing the wine, she needs the fortitude, she hits the show all icon and starts to read.
Lonely man would like to accompany you to your cousin's wedding. I am not too hard on the eyes, at least I haven't made any children scream in horror, recently. I am 6 foot tall, all my own hair and teeth, and I dress up nicely. I think you'd look great on my arm. Picture attached.
She scrolls down to find the picture and loses her breath. Rubbing at her eyes, she tries to breathe, but can't quite pull in any air. That smile, those eyes, they have haunted her dreams for years. The last time she heard his silky voice, dripping from his kissable lips, it still makes her quiver. He promised to call her, tomorrow, and tomorrow never came. A tear spills over her cheek, cold as it splashes on her breast. Silent sobs as she rereads the words.
How is it possible that of the tens of thousands of members, he is the one who read her ad, responded so quickly it was like he was anticipating its arrival. As the sobs slow and her breathing comes easier she types a response.
Hello lonely man. A few questions for you if you don't mind. Are you single? Do you have children? Where do you live? Do you work? Why are you lonely?
The audible click of the send button sends a shiver up her spine and she waits for his answers. Uncorking another bottle of wine...this may be a long night, she pours her glass full, and sits back, her eyes glued to the screen, sipping the liquid, letting it warm her from the inside.
She closes her eyes remembering how good they were together, a brief but fiery romance, it seemed to hold such promise. For the hundredth time she replays the last few days they spent together in her head, looking, searching for what she may have done wrong, what she might have said to drive him away. The pain in her chest, the same one that always squeezes her heart as if it were in a vise, makes her cringe, she quickly drains another glass of wine.
The icon for mail lights up and she hesitates, her fingers trembling as they hover over the keyboard, then quickly jabbing it. She reads his answers.
Yes, I am single. I don't have any children. I live in the same city as you do. I work, everyday, doing something I love, so I can barely call it work. I had to think about that last question, and I have decided that the truth would be the best answer. I am in love, but I haven't heard from her in a long time, every time the phone rings, I hope it is her. It never is. But, I think it's finally time to stop being lonely, maybe I can start with you.
Her fingers fly to cover her left breast, as if to stop her heart from leaping out. She does not even pause to think about who he had been in love with, it obviously wasn't her. But it does answer the question of why he stopped calling her, he fell in love and didn't have the nerve to tell her. It would have been kinder to have told her, she waited weeks, then months and now it seems years for someone who's heart belongs to another.
A flash of anger rips through her and she tosses the wineglass across the room, the delicate glass shattering and skittering across the floor. Red droplets stain the white curtain at the window and she feels the torrent of tears, coursing over her cheeks. She buries her face in a pillow and screams, screams until there is nothing left in her to scream about. An empty shell, she stares teary eyed at the screen, the mail button taunting her, she stabs it with her finger.
