Page 62 of All Your Firsts

“You okay?”

“Ah, yeah. Chips in a milkshake seem pretty random.”

“Possibly, but it’s delicious.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Let me guess, you don’t like soggy chips?” I feel bad for baiting her, but I want her to talk about her pen pal.

I want to know what she thinks of me. The real me. After her pissed-off letter, I decided not to write her back. I wanted her to focus on me, not the letter me.

She nods her head before looking at me. “Yeah, I had a friend who liked to eat milkshakes just like that.”

Had.

She said had.

The server brings our milkshakes to us. Mine looks as vanilla as vanilla can be, while hers is more of a devious monster. Cookies, graham crackers, marshmallows, and a donut sit on top while chocolate overflows from the sides.

“Wow. I’m never going to finish this.” She takes her finger and runs it along the glass to collect the overflowing chocolate, then sticks her finger into her mouth.

She makes the same moaning noise as she always does when she eats, and it goes straight to my dick. Especially now that I know she makes the same noise when I rub my body against hers.

I clear my throat and attempt to stay on track. “What happened to the friend?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said had a friend not have.”

“He... we grew apart.”

“Was he more than a friend?”

She shrugs. Is it ridiculous that I’m jealous of her pen pal, who is actually me? Yes, yes, it is.

“He was the one I wrote letters to, but it doesn’t matter.”

“You held on to that letter I handed you like it was special.”

“It was.”

“Then what happened?”

She pins me with a look that shows she doesn’t want to talk about it. “Why do you care so much?”

“Just making conversation.” I shrug as if I don’t care when, really, I’m hanging on to every word she says. “Thought you might want someone to talk to. You don’t have many friends here.”

“Are you my friend?” she asks.

“I think I’m more than a friend after the other night, but we aren’t talking about that right now.”

She looks down at her milkshake. “He left me when I needed him the most.”

A deep pain shoots through my stomach at her words.

“Friends, or whatever we were, don’t abandon each other without a word. So that’s that.” Standing, she walks back to my bike. She’s clearly done with the topic when I want nothing more than to dissect it, tear it into pieces, and eradicate it from her memory.

I’ve guarded myself all my life to avoid being abandoned, but it only resulted in making the person I cherish most feel deserted.

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