Straight, But... Lonely

Kali Roses settles in. The lights hit her like she walked straight off a movie set. First question lands and her boyfriend's name still twists something behind her ribs. He got offered a job across the ocean. Temporary, they said. She nodded, smiled, packed his bags herself. Then the nights started stretching. Calls every day, static on the line, half-finished sentences, and both of them crawling into bed alone with nowhere to put all that heat. Months in they drew the line themselves: other bodies were fine so long as no heart followed. She tried. Took two guys home. Couldn’t finish with either. Their hands felt wrong. Their voices scraped the same empty spot he used to fill. So she ran to Violet. Violet listened, stared at the ceiling, then called it like she saw it. “You don’t miss men,” she said. “You miss him. Try something that can’t remind you.” Violet’s tongue got fast after that, swearing she wasn’t pitching herself, but Kali cut her off and said she wanted exactly that, someone she trusted. Violet folded after one more drink. They kissed on the couch before the ice melted in the glasses. Kali still wonders if that door ever closes again. The footage is waiting.