I write for fifteen minutes then take a five minute break. Then I write for another twenty-five with a ten-minute break and finally write another twenty minutes.

The flow and the momentum varies, with the twenty-five minute session being the slowest and a little bit like cycling uphill. It's a familiar feeling and I push myself through it.

After counting up the word count, I copy and paste the dictated texts into a Word document on my laptop.

I save everything to the cloud and close it. I don't know if I'm going to do anymore work today, but this was enough.

I'm proud of myself for going through with it despite all of the angst and uncertainty that I feel.

I know what kind of car she drives and her Prius is not here. There's a small café on the corner so I walk over and grab a bite to eat.

I haven't been in the city in a long time. It feels good just to walk and be surrounded by people. I don't always feel this way, in fact, ninety percent of my day I don't, but today's a little different.

After eating the salad and some tapas, I pay the bill and window shop in the thrift stores lining the street. When I see one with a gorgeous kayak, hand carved from real oak, I can't help but stop in.

The clerk mentions that it came in from the Hollywood Hills. I guess someone just didn't want it anymore.

It's beautiful with delicate lines and magnificent handcrafted work.

On a whim, I decide to buy it.

Of course, I’d have to ship it home.

I live in the desert, miles away from a stream, let alone a river, but I know that when I go up to Big Bear Lake or even out here to the ocean, this is the kayak that I want to use.

A few hours later, I return to my car and see that the Prius is still not here. I walk up to her apartment and knock on the door just to check, but no one answers.

I try the door handle, but it's locked. It's a simple design and I happen to have a paperclip in my wallet.

I have opened safes and locks much more complicated than this one and I can't help myself.

I uncurl the paperclip, stick it into the lock, and wiggle it around until I find the latch.

Moments later, I'm inside her apartment.

I wait for Emma for a long time that evening. In fact, I fall asleep a couple of times on the couch watching Netflix.

I wait so long that I wonder if she's coming home at all. Maybe she got back together with Alex and is spending the night at his place. Still, I wait. If she comes home in the morning we can talk then.

My anger at what she did fluctuates with time.

Sometimes, I just want to ask her why.

Other times, it feels like I'm trying to hold back an explosion within me that’s going to ignite as soon as I see her.

Hours later, the doorknob finally jiggles and she stumbles inside, waking me up.

My eyes adjust to the light faster than hers and I watch as she stumbles toward the lamp.

When I see her like that, I force my anger to the deep part of me and I decide to hear her out.

11

Liam

I don't want to kiss her again.

It's too dangerous, especially after that article.

But when she nuzzles herself close to me after I give her my jacket, I can feel her body against mine and something else takes over.

I can't stop myself.

I kiss every part of her as hard as I can for one simple reason, I can't get enough.

I haven't wanted anyone like this in a long time. In fact, I decided that it's not worth having a relationship given who I am and the kind of danger that I can bring to my potential partner.

My emotions take over the cerebral part of me.

They consume me.

It's not just my desire for her.

It's everything.

She challenges me.

She fights back.

She lies.

We kiss some more, but then she starts to shiver and when I pull away from her, I see that she's barefoot.

It's in the low 50s now and it’s no wonder that she's freezing.

Bending my knees, I grab on to her waist and lift her up. I hold her with one hand behind her back and another underneath her knees. I carry her like that all the way back to her apartment.

As I walk back up the stairs to her place, she wraps her arms around my neck and smiles.

I hold her tightly and don't let go until I cross the threshold into her apartment.

“I can't believe you carried me all this way.”

“It's nothing. You're as light as a feather.”

She shakes her head, smiles, and says, “I know that you are lying, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I'm not lying,” I say with a shrug.

It is true, she is very happy, but it is a pleasure to hold her like this and to take her home.

After putting on a thick pair of socks, she takes my hand and leads me over to the couch. I sit down and stare into her deep hazel eyes.

Emma looks back at me inquisitively and I lean over to kiss her again. I feel a spark in all of my extremities.

My fingers and toes start to tingle.

I reach over and run my hand down her neck.

I push away her hair and press my lips softly to her collarbone. She takes a few little delicate breaths and I pull her closer to me so that I can feel her skin-to-skin.

Our eyes meet when I lean her back and drape my body over hers. She feels soft and effervescent underneath me and I like that.

She wraps her legs tightly around my waist and continues to press her lips to mine. When our tongues touch and pull away, it feels like the ebb and flow of the tides.

Running my fingers down her side, I reach the bottom of her blouse and then slide my hand up against her bare skin.

She arches her back. With the tips of my fingers, I feel her skin spark up with goose bumps. Her breaths quicken and her breasts move up and down with each inhale.

I slide my fingers underneath the wire of her bra and suddenly she pulls away.

“Is this okay?” I ask, not wanting to take this any further than she wants to.

She looks surprised and seems to be thinking about something, but then she nods her head and reaches over to kiss me again.

When I kiss her back, she jerks away again and this time slides from underneath me and covers her mouth with her hands.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She shakes her head and grabs the bright yellow pillow from the side of the couch.

I reach over to touch her, but she pushes me away and makes a loud gurgling sound.

A moment later, she throws up into the pillow. She throws up again and again until it is soaked in vomit.

When she tries to pull away from me, I grab her by the waist and help lead her to the bathroom.

When she buries her head in the toilet, I pull her hair out of her face. There's an elastic band laying on the counter and I tie her hair up in a loose bun.

“I'm fine,” she says after each time.

I rub her back and agree with her. Then just as she's about to get up and wash her face, she folds in half and gets sick again.

I stay with her on the tile floor for close to an hour. She shivers and I hold her tightly.

When she has gotten all of it out of her system, I help her up and hold her as she washes her face and hands and brushes her teeth. I then go to the kitchen and fill up a glass of water and tell her to sip it lightly.

Dehydrated and exhausted, she takes a few big gulps and then buries her head back in the toilet.