LUCKY

“I killed a man.”

He said this calmly, his voice clear, his body relaxed lying on the bed next to me, spent by my side.

We had met, if you want to call it that, no more than a couple of hours ago. Tired and with another six-hour drive ahead of me, I had not fancied driving into the night and had pulled into one of those service stations that had everything: pumps, a brightly-lit restaurant, and a dusty motel up a short hill.

He was stopped at the pump next to mine and our eyes met across our vehicles. His was a black affair, powerful against my small red thing. He nodded at me, raised a hand to an imaginary hat and my mind raced to evaluate the opportunities.

He went in to pay and by the time my car was full up, he was already back at his. My hopes faded till I returned from paying and noticed he was still there, ignoring the honking line building behind, urging him on. He did not look at me, his face turned straight ahead. I got in and drove to the parking lot of the restaurant a few yards ahead. He pulled in two or three cars away.

The restaurant was one of those efficient self-serve deals and as my stomach rumbled, I grabbed not only a coffee but also a cream cheese bagel. To hell with carbs late in the evening! I was about to indulge, and needed the calories.

He was taller than me, skinny but built, with muscles that came from work rather than working out. His face spoke to me, kind but haunted, a bad-boy turn-able-good kind-of look that I knew could drive me crazy with just a smile and a wink of his dark eyes. His jeans were faded, like his face well worn. His dark hair was cropped short and on closer inspection, now that we had the neon lights of the eating place to our disadvantage, there was a smattering of grey all over. I judged him to be in his late 40s, just like myself.

I chose a quiet corner, away from through-traffic and he positioned himself at the next table, facing me. We ate in silence, but I felt my face flush from the thoughts he had started in my mind, and he smiled and nodded again.

This time, I nodded back. The deal was done.

We completed our meals in silence, left about half the food behind, adrenaline an accelerant.

I got into the car, parked at the motel, checked in. He was steps behind. I asked for a room one flight up. I don’t know what he asked for, but he got the room next to mine.

During the short ride in the lift, we did not look at each other, neither did we speak. As I unlocked the door to my room, he put the key in his, gave a wistful nod towards my door, a shy smile in my direction. Then he was gone. I set my bags down, hurriedly brushed my teeth and before I could sit on my bed, wondering if I had understood him right, there was a knock.

I opened, he pushed in, the door fell closed. His lips on mine, his arms pulling me in hard, he did not have to push to get me to bed. Clothes came off, I cannot remember whether he tore off mine and I his, or if we both did our own.

The sex was unforgettable. I no longer was tired.

Afterwards, we lay there, evaluating the paint on the ceiling.

“I killed a man.”

I let the echo of his words resound in my mind and gave it a blink’s notice before I turned and kissed him on the lips. Carefully, with something that in other circumstances could have felt like love. He responded.

Our love making this time was less hurried, and he took great care of me. The lights were on, our eyes locked into each other. Our fingers entwined, our bodies moved in unified pleasure.

We did not speak. Words would have messed it all up.

We were hungry and took our fill.

He was the kindest man I had ever been with. When we were done, he held me, and I felt his breath on my hands as he brushed his lips against my fingers. He did not fall asleep, he stayed awake with me through the night. He was different, so very different from all the others.

At first light, he stood and walked into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush, and the shower start.

Quickly, I put my clothes on, grabbed my things.

On the dresser lay his watch, his wallet and a grizzled leather bracelet. As I walked out the door, I snatched that bracelet and headed for my car. I hit the road but pulled off at the next exit: I did not want him to follow and find me.

In a small, dark layby, I scanned the bracelet. The fear that they would send someone after me was always there, but the temptation of a male body had simply been too great. His face had spoken just the right words, that first moment of meeting had been so perfect, I had wondered if he had been sent to catch me. But there was no tracker on the leather strap.

I wrapped the bracelet around my wrist and raised my arm to appreciate its simple beauty. I would wear this now. I would wear this till the next lucky one.

“I killed a man.”

I had to smile. How would he have reacted if I had told him? What could I have said?

‘Don’t worry, you get used to it’ or ‘it gets easier after the second one’ somehow would have killed the moment and could have opened up a weird kind of conversation.

As I drove off, I thought of the treasures hidden in their small compartment below the glove box. Watches, bracelets, rings. Man’s things. My trophies. I smiled: I wondered what he would have said if he had known how close he had been to be the next. I pushed down hard on the accelerator. Lucky.