“When you see him, I want you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Ask him if he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get to touch you again.”
I frown. “Why would I ask him that?” I whisper.
“Because there’s another man who does.” The phone clicks as he hangs up.
T. L. Swan, The Stopover
Reposted from
mefir 
