Ava

The sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the curtains the following day when my eyes fluttered open. I stared at the ceiling, afraid to move, wondering if Elijah was still asleep beside me. After a few minutes of holding my breath, I finally looked over to the space he had recently taken up.
It was empty. Cold. He’d left.
I put my hands over my face and took a deep breath, hating myself for thinking that he’d stay. Even after I told him my feelings, even after I asked for a date, he left … and he didn’t even say goodbye.
“Well, fuck.” I reached for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. It was a little after six, so I wasn’t late for work. Yet. I’d been too distracted last night humping a sexy stranger to remember to set my alarm. At the time, it had seemed so minuscule to the situation at hand. I felt like I’d been in another world, a fantasy world. A dream.
Until now, that is.
With a sigh, I scrolled through my missed texts and phone calls. A couple from Sandy asking about lunch this weekend, and one from Katie informing me she’d called the police, and Sara was now being searched for throughout the city. Thinking of the girl made my heart seize with fear, but there was nothing we could do now except sit back and hope that the police found her before it was too late.
There was nothing from Elijah. Not that I had expected there to be. But the sadness of it took hold and held tight, anyway.
I tossed the phone aside and rolled over in my bed, face down, too exhausted to take on the world today. My whole body was sore and stiff from the unexpected cardio workout I’d endured, and everything below my waist was sensitive to the touch. He’d been a good fuck. No, a great one, but now he was gone, and it was time for me to get my ass out of bed and go back to the real world. I considered calling out sick, but I knew that would only encourage me to lie around the house in pajamas feeling sorry for myself, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that. What I needed, however, was a pick me up.
I reached for my phone again and put Elijah’s name into the search engine. When I found a good picture of him (all of them were good, but whatever), I propped the phone up on the pillow beside my head and snaked one hand down towards my pussy. It was tender from last night, warm to the touch, but the pain only made me want it more. I slipped one finger in and then another before I rubbed in slow, gentle circles. It was slow at first, but as the memory of the night before sharpened, so did the speed of my fingers against my clit. I closed my eyes, seeing his handsome face in my mind. I thought of his throbbing dick, which had so erotically taken me on the ride of my life last night. A flush rose to my cheeks, my heart picking up speed in my chest as I neared the edge of a climax.
It was no Elijah Trevino, but it would do.
When I finished, I went straight to the bathroom to shower. Sweaty and flushed, I turned the water on cold and let it run over my body until I was shivering. Then I got dressed for work, applied a light shade of makeup, and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Much to my surprise, it was ready to be made, already set up in the pot. Not only that, but someone—Elijah, I imagine—had run to the supermarket and brought back a basket of mini-muffins and fresh fruit, which was now displayed beautifully on my kitchen counter. I reached for the small, folded note tucked between a banana and a mango and unfolded it to read.
I will see you on our date tonight. 8 PM.
Dress warmly.
-Elijah