He called her because he couldn’t let go.
He knew he damaged her and hurt her, but in a sense, he didn’t give a damn. She would be there and she would answer his call. He was a good looking man and she evidently like him, in spite of the way he acted. He felt bad sometimes, but most of the time he was OK with it. It was her choice after all.
She had gotten out of his car two days ago. She had not called, not texted. It was unlike her. By now she was usually yearning for him, begging for him to come over without actually begging – he could always hear it in her voice – in the words tbat glittered across the screen – a sense of need even when she was just asking how his day at work went though she knew that it had been mostly fine since he was content in his corporate middle management occasionally he strived for more but it was never in ambition it was because he just wanted to appear more important and sleep even more comfortably at night knowing that he had climbed that ladder and was looking down at who he used to be he liked the way his business card looked and the stability of it all.
She did not answer. Maybe she was having one of her fits of discontent. He usually left her be around this time or came over anyway, sighing and repeating himself again and again that he was not meant for a relationship he was not meant to be needed like this and in truth (thought he never told her ) he came back for her body and her company. It was something like a hooker, except the price had nothing to do with money unless you counted the dinners out – it was more about paying emotional dues to get what he wanted out of her. He hated to think of it that way, he did not consider himself a hard person and he did care about her in his own way but caring could never lead to attachment (he was surprised it had gotten this far).
He remembered the way she looked whence walked in the door and how he responded to his touch, fighting the ecstasy his voice his touch his feel gave her. He smiled remembering his power over her.
He hung up without leaving a message She would call. She would call.
In a week she hadn’t called. He texted her innocuous comments, saying he wished he had someone there to share the moments with. She never replied. He was getting anxious now maybe it was time to move on maybe it was time to go on to the next girl and give up she had never made him completely happy anyway not that any girl could not that he’d let any girl do so. He had convinced himself through his own slow thought melding that he was not meant for attachment he was not meant for reliance he strived to punish her when she attempted to push that upon him and he always won with a sigh and a night twisting the sheets in her bed. But she had not called. It began to worry him.