The Weatherman

The Weatherman "I miss you." "I know I've been M.I.A. a lot, but there's been a lot going on." "Tell me when it's okay to call." Zaram stared at her phone as the messages came in, one after the other, following a familiar pattern. A voice in her head seemed to anticipate his next words even before they appeared. As she watched the three dots dance across the screen, she already knew what was coming. "Talking on the phone might be fine, but I was thinking we should meet up. There's something soothing about being in your presence." Zaram laughed, but there was sadness in it. The exact words she'd imagined had appeared on her screen. His predictability made him pathetic, but the fact that her heart was beating just a little faster than usual made her feel equally pathetic. It was true that he blew hot and cold. But his warmth, when it came, was something else. It had a way of making her body a willing slave to him, and, perhaps more dangerously, her heart too. In the beginning, there had been a certain thrill in his unpredictability. The uncertainty, the occasional longing, the anticipation of when he would return. But as time passed, her need for him had grown, and so had her desire for something more. She wanted to be needed consistently. Not just a fleeting thought that crossed his mind when he was horny or hungry, or when he needed the comfort of a soothing presence. She wanted to exist in his thoughts even when he had no immediate need for her. She wanted to be his calm and his storm, his shelter from the rain and the rain itself. She wanted to be the sunshine he looked forward to and the clouds he never wished away. But deep down, she knew better. Some people only wanted the warmth of the sun when they were cold, never considering what it meant to stand beneath it every day. And perhaps that was all she would ever be to him: a welcome change in the weather, never the season he wanted to stay in.