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Opening my messages, a pang of sadness settles beneath my chest. Still no response.

My eyebrows pinch together at the lack of response. She’s usually quick to respond, even if it’s to tell me to fuck off. Putting the phone down, I step into the shower.

Stepping out after an hour, I notice my phone lighting up. I take two steps quickly across the bathroom and dry my hands to unlock the screen.

I’m choosing to believe that Missy is some other woman you meant to text.

If not, you’re a chauvinistic dickhead and should sleep with one eye open

I run my fingers over my eyes and laugh as hard as I can. It’s just too easy to set this woman off. Most people have maybe four or five buttons. Not my Patience. No. She’s just one walking, talking button with a hair trigger. Ready to be set loose at any given moment. I can see that she’s still responding. No doubt providing me instructions on how to jump off a bridge. I probably shouldn’t let her go any further.

Don’t be silly. I’ll be able to sleep just fine.

You can hardly break into a warehouse without setting off alarms.

Funny. Remember that when you wake up with a syringe at your throat.

If you’re straddling me, I’ll gladly welcome death.

Three dots appear, then disappear several times. Finally, I receive her response in the form of coordinates.

I pull up the coordinates and zoom in. A park in the industrial district. Not overly crowded and secluded enough for our line of work. I don’t miss the fact that this location is perfect for one of her flowers.

Someone learned how to share.

Yes, well I didn’t have much of a choice.

I decided to be nice. Unlike some people.

Excuse me?

I’m very nice. I bought you tikka.

Yes. You did. Thank you.

So, she can say thank you.

That’s called growth.

Fuck you.

I say it when it’s earned.

Will that location work?

Yes. It seems fine.

I may have to do additional prep work but it’ll work.

Good.

Good night

XOXO

I probably shouldn’t have sent the hugs and kisses. It simply couldn’t be helped. She’s become all-consuming to my thoughts. I can’t seem to get her out of my head. Nor would I want to. I want her. Every part of her. Her hair. Her eyes. Her scent. The feel of her warm body next to mine. I haven’t worked out how we could share our hobbies. It’s possible. There is some way to make this work. Provided I fix the fucking mess I made.

Placing my face in my hands, I groan at my own stupidity. I’m such a fucking child. I could have done a litany of other things to get her attention. I could have approached her nicely, perhaps asked her for a cup of coffee like any other normal person.