Calling All Angels

An Alex encounter leads to a mistake

I stuck at Ray Patterson stadium since my car broke down and my parents weren’t picking up. I saw Alex. My luck.

“Hey, you need a ride?” he asked out of the blue. It shocked me that he’d even talk to me in public let alone ask me question like that.

I couldn’t pass it up. It was freezing and my last resort was walking. I nodded. Something told me not to talk.

Getting in the car was entering hell . . . until he turned the car on and one of my jams (for the moment) was on. He turned it down thinking I’d want him too. The music kind of softened me up to my old self.

“What are you doing? Turn it up!” I crazily said. He smiled and turned it back up. We sang along to “Let’s Go” by Calvin Harris.

We acted as if there was no history with us, or as if it was continuing. Either way we bonded singing to each other.

When the song ended, he turned it back down.

“So, good job cheering tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t understand what our defense is doing anymore.”

“Right? It’s like . . . really? How can you let them through?”

This sparked conversation to point where we bonded even more. He made me laugh, I made him laugh.

When we got to my house, he shut off the car. It scared me. What was he about to do?

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you to the door? There’s still that kidnapper out there and you never know?”

A weird excuse considering we were not too far from the front door, but this was true. Now that he said it, my paranoia set in.

He followed me to the door.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.”

We smiled at the same time. Somehow, one look at each other lock us in time where nothing mattered anymore. It felt like the first time we kissed. The tension between his lips and mine. So much we couldn’t bare it anymore.

Next thing I knew we were kissing. The familiar touch was enough to make me forget our past and think we were still together. I felt the garage door pushing against my back and his hips leaning on me. It felt like the first time we made-out in school.

I came back to my senses knowing he was kind of with Megan and kind of not. This would for sure be a questionable subject. He backed off looking stunned like I was a ghost of girlfriends past. I was in reality.

“Um . . .”

“No one has to know . . .” I reminded him.

“Okay,” he suddenly got his analytical smile back, “Then you won’t tell anyone if I do it again?”

I gave him the same smile, “Of course not.”

I have no idea why I agreed to making-out with an ex who has a girl up for grabs but isn’t official yet. Technically he isn’t cheating because I saw her kiss another guy on Monday. So it’s fair, I guess. But the ex-thing was still stuck in my mind as a bad idea. The attachment would come back. What if I end up crushing on him again? What if he doesn’t want me back? This is probably a one night thrill because I’m an easy target. Great. All I’m good for. While I loved making-out with him again, I couldn’t help but feel “satisfied but guilty as hell” when I was sitting in bed that night.

This killed me even more that I just did that and nothing would come out of it. I’m like an unpaid employee. Now I’d have to face the heart-ache of loss all over again. Perfect. And thus comes the dreams of him tonight and on-going for the next month. My biggest regret.