Night Owl (2 page)

Little.Bird
:  My breasts are... big. 34DD. They sit high on my chest for natural breasts. My nipples are dark pink. They're really sensitive. I'm curvy. Hourglass figure I guess.

I was ready to come. Already. I let myself moan into the silence of the apartment and rocked my hips into my hand.
Oh god oh god oh god
. I groped at the laptop keyboard.

Night.Owl
:  Help me come.

Little.Bird
:  I shave my legs all the way up. And I'm... really tight. And wet. So wet. I'm making a mess.

Night.Owl
:  God you're a slut Hannah.

Little.Bird
:  I am. My legs are spread so wide it hurts. I wish you were pounding into me right now.

My orgasm took me by surprise, the pleasure unfurling all at once. I gasped and sat up sharply. I came into my hand with a groan.

I'm making a mess.

I wish you were pounding into me right now.

I collapsed against the pillows. My chest was heaving. A rivulet of sweat trickled from my dirty-blond hair to my jaw.

What just happened? I stared at the laptop and waited. I couldn't log off; I had to say something. Thanks? Sorry?

Night.Owl
:  I should go.

Little.Bird
:  Wait. That was alright, Matt. If you're going because you feel awkward, don't. We don't have to talk about it.

Finding the words "I should go" had been difficult enough. I had nothing else to say. I needed to think, or not think. I most definitely needed to get away from Hannah.

Little.Bird
:  Listen. I don't normally do this. I don't want you to think I'm like that.

Night.Owl
:  No. Neither do I.

Before Hannah could type a reply, I closed Skype and shut my laptop.

I didn't log back on for a week.

And what a week it was. Thoughts of Hannah invaded my mind. I woke up thinking about her, often hard, and I went to sleep thinking about her. I thought about her in the shower. I thought about her when I tried to work, my latest project open on the computer screen and my head locked in a daydream.

Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.

Over and over I turned the few details she had given me. Large breasts, a curvy figure, a tight cunt.

A friend took me out to lunch on the weekend.

"What do you know about Seattle?" I asked, striving to sound nonchalant.

"Seattle? Why?"

"I'm putting it in a story. Figured I'd ask. I've never been, no idea about the place."

"Well, I've been to the pacific northwest a few times." My friend chewed and watched me thoughtfully. I stared at my plate. I had hardly touched my meal, but under his careful gaze I shoved a forkful of risotto into my mouth.

"Tons of hipsters," he said. "All that unflattering facial hair. And I'll tell you what, it's depressing as
fuck
, the weather out there. It's gray. I mean if you like that kind of thing, it's great. But it's
wet
, Matt, it's basically wet all the time."

I slammed down my fork. I nearly choked.

Wet. So wet. I'm making a mess.

Hannah emailed a story installment after two days. Usually she replied within hours. Maybe she was having second thoughts about me.

Hell, I'd be having second thoughts about me.

Her writing was perfectly normal, though.

Our characters were traveling to a port city in search of information to help Lana harness her powers. I could feel my character falling for Lana as we wrote. I tried to steer him away from it, but Hannah wrote the girl in such a clever, engaging way. She was quirky and strong, a lover of laughter, by turns tomboyish and then disarmingly feminine.

Hannah. Lana.

I began to make connections.

She described Lana as buxom, short, and curvy. An hourglass figure. Was Hannah writing a thinly veiled version of herself? And for that matter, was I? Like me, Cal was tall and fair-haired, cynical in the extreme, and neurotically secretive.

I booted up my laptop a week after the bathrobe incident with the intention of continuing our story. Or maybe with the intention of chatting with Hannah. I missed her.

That's when I saw the email from [email protected].

The email with her picture.

The picture that made me hard.

Subject:  Come back...

Sender:  Hannah Catalano

Date:  Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Time:  11:15 PM

Matt, hey. I really hope you read this. You haven't replied to my post. I miss the story. And I miss talking to you.

I can't stop thinking about what happened.

I met Mick through WoW (I'm a reformed nerd) and we cybered like twice over private messages. He's a really bad writer. It was really bad. Then we started dating long distance and I used to do things with him over video chat. That's all.

I don't know why I'm telling you this stuff, except that I want you to know that what happened between us isn't normal for me. I liked it though. Knowing you were getting off turned me on.

Speaking of Mick, I'm leaving him. My sister is flying out here on Thursday to help me pack and we're driving back together. I'm moving in with my parents for a while. Pretty awesome, since I'm 27.

I guess the point is, we'll be on the road for two or three days and I'll only be online on my phone.

Hannah

After jerking off to Hannah's picture like a desperate juvenile, I must have reread her email three times. I mentally filed the new information.

Hannah has a sister.

Hannah is twenty-seven.

Hannah is leaving her boyfriend.

Hannah liked helping me get off; she can't stop thinking about it and it turned her on.

And now she had a face and a name, both of which I expressly asked never to know.

Hannah Catalano.

So she was Italian. That explained the knockout figure and the dark, heavy hair.

I logged onto Skype.

Night.Owl
:  Hey.

Little.Bird
:  Hey! That was quick, lol. I sent you an email like fifteen minutes ago.

Night.Owl
:  Don't I know it.

Little.Bird
:  Haha...

Night.Owl
:  Let's get one thing straight Hannah. I'm not sure what you think it means that you helped me get off with your rudimentary descriptive skills, so let me clarify. It means nothing. It definitely does not mean you can now assault me with your life story.

Little.Bird
:  Wow. Wow...

Night.Owl
:  Use your words.

Little.Bird
:  You... are such an asshole right now.

Night.Owl
:  You say this like it's news.

Little.Bird
:  It's news to me. God, I'm SO SORRY that I decided to tell you I'd be gone for a few days. We WERE telling a story together basically every day, but since you haven't replied to my last post, I guess that's off.

Night.Owl
:  It's not off. Don't get all hyperbolic on me Hannah. However, let's pause and consider the distance between 1.) telling me you're going to be MIA for a few days, and 2.) forcing your name AND picture on me.

Little.Bird
: ... what?

Night.Owl
:  Yes, shocking but true. Our minor indiscretion does not suddenly negate my wish to preserve mutual privacy. No full names, no pictures, etc.

Little.Bird
:  Wtf. I didn't send you my picture. Or tell you my name.

Night.Owl
:  Okay [email protected].

Little.Bird
:  omg

I rolled my eyes and sat back in my chair. Maybe I had been a little harsher than necessary, but I got my point across. I was angry. I was angry with Hannah for plaguing my thoughts, and angrier that she was gorgeous and forced me to know it.

Somehow, my life would be easier if I could imagine Hannah as a fat pimply stranger on the internet, or even a faceless stranger on the internet. Anything but that dark-haired beauty blowing a kiss at me with her pink, pouty lips.

Five minutes passed and Hannah said nothing.

I fiddled with the desk calendar.

Night.Owl
:  Do you have anything to add to that stirring articulation?

Nothing.

I opened my email, then opened Hannah's email. Her account picture had changed. Gone was the tiny portrait of Hannah Catalano, replaced by a purplish swirl of galaxy and stars.

Panic chilled me.

It was gone. Her picture was gone.

I clicked on the galaxy and it took me to a larger picture... of the galaxy.

Already I couldn't remember the details of Hannah's face.

Night.Owl
:  What the fuck. You just changed your account picture? You do realize I have already seen it...

Little.Bird
:  Matt, I am so, so sorry. I know you're never going to believe me, but this is the truth. I emailed you from my main account by accident. I am so embarrassed right now, I want to die. I would never infringe on your boundaries like that. God, everything's been so insane in my life lately. I was worried I'd scared you off. I sat down to write you an email, and bang.

Night.Owl
:  Oh...

Little.Bird
:  Yeah, I... I'm so mortified. I'm so sorry...

Night.Owl
:  I... really thought you did it on purpose. Obviously. Wow.

Little.Bird
:  No, I would never. I swear. I love writing with you. I respect your privacy. Or I try to...

I frowned and considered the words on my screen. It was an accident. And thanks to my overblown reaction to that accident, I had lost access to my only image of Hannah, the girl who was steadily setting my mind on fire.

I ran a quick Google image search on Hannah Catalano.

Nothing.

Night.Owl
:  Do you even want to know what I thought?

Little.Bird
:  What you thought?

Night.Owl
:  Of how you look.

Little.Bird
:  Oh. Um. It doesn't matter.

Night.Owl
:  Doesn't matter?

Little.Bird
:  Yeah. It's... no big deal. I'm just so embarrassed.

Night.Owl
:  Well, in that case, you'll be pleased to know I barely looked at it. It was a tiny picture and as soon as I realized what it was, I closed the window.

Little.Bird
:  Oh... okay...

Night.Owl
:  Yeah. And thanks for changing it so promptly. I appreciate that.

Little.Bird
:  Sure. So... I should... probably get back to packing.

Night.Owl
:  Mm. Good luck with that. I'll reply to your post soon.

Little.Bird
:  Sweet. I'll reply when I can.

Night.Owl
:  Don't worry about it. I know you've got a lot going on, and you'll be tired after the move. What state are your folks in?

Little.Bird
:  Oh... didn't I tell you? Haha. Gosh. Super awkward night.

Night.Owl
:  Huh?

Little.Bird
:  Nothing. They still live in the house I grew up in. In Colorado...

CHAPTER 2

Hannah

_____

LEAVING MICK'S HAIRY
ass was the best decision I made in the last five years.

Leaving my job as a teller at Bank West was the second best decision.

The guy and the job didn't respect me—and they didn't deserve me.

No matter how I asked or what I threatened, Mick refused to quit smoking and drinking. He had an infuriating habit of groping me in public and lately the sex was, well, not sex. More like a six-thrust
oops!

When I looked at Mick, I had to force myself to remember that I used to love him. I used to find his nerd humor funny. I used to be attracted to his jawless pointy-chinned face and scruffy receding hairline.

Sort of.

As for the bank, I stayed on as a teller for three years while my favorite boss got canned, my friends gradually left, and I was passed over time and time again for promotions.

Good riddance to them both.

And hello to three days on the road going fifty-five with a U-Haul hooked to my Civic, spacing out and thinking about Matt.

"
Hellooo
?"  My sister waved her iPod in my face.

"Huh? What?"

"For the... third time." She turned down my Lana Del Rey playlist. "Can I puh-lease change the music?"

"Oh, yeah. Whatever."

I stared ahead at the highway.

I felt Chrissy watching me as she plugged in her iPod.