The landline rang again for the fourth consecutive time that night, and this time you had to answer it.

This had been going on for weeks. You had met Axl at the club, it was supposed to be just a one night thing, but the two of you exchanged numbers, and now he calls you every damn night, when he's drunk or high (or maybe both) and wants to have some fun.

There's supposed to be no feelings between you two, that's what he says. But it seems like a lie, because every time he calls you, a feeling of hope wells up in his chest, hope that you'll agree to meet him at some hotel, but more importantly, hope that he'll see you again.

You weren't surprised to hear his raspy voice on the phone when you picked up.

"Can we meet up?" He got straight to the point. He was particularly more eager to see you tonight.