She Has No Idea

She wrote it on his skin, and he hoped that it would sink in. It was just a phone number, but he thought of it as coordinates, that once he left the bar, the darkness, he would find something, something worth leaving for. He remembered the way she smiled as she wrote, the way her nails carved into his hate of that place; That the fact that she was there, made up for the dirty glasses and watered down drinks, the stale smoke, and the crooked toothed lounge singer. He got to his car, and warmed up the heart of a new journey. Lit a cigarette with the lighter she left, before kissing the neck of his shadow, whispering to the wounds he was so used to drowning in. As he exhaled the first puff, he watched his tachometer steadily rise, red, angry revolutions, memories, nightmares...regret swelled against the windshield, blurry. "She has no idea what she is in for.." -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.