Laura Kulik is an Emmy-winning writer and filmmaker with a passion for horror movies. Laura's love for storytelling stems from her upbringing in rural New York, where she entertained herself by making up stories about woods filled with fairies and monsters. Her films have been featured in festivals across the country. This is her first short story. 

The Text

Alisa refused to look at her phone when the text came. It was either very good or very bad news, and she wanted to remain in a state of blissful ignorance for as long as possible. Just knowing the message was there, waiting for her, made the back of her neck tingle. The limbo between agony and ecstasy was so intense it was almost sexual.

This is how Alisa dealt with most anxiety-inducing situations. She put off making a decision until her indecision became her decision. This method rarely produced outcomes that made Alisa happy, but at least she wasn't directly responsible for her unhappiness.

No, Alisa reminded herself. You're not that person anymore. You're proactive. You make decisions. You get what you want.

Alisa glanced behind her. In the open-plan office, her boss's desk was strategically positioned behind her so he could look at her computer whenever her typing slowed. Luckily, at this very moment, he was leaning over his desk, one hand strangling a stress ball, the other stabbing at his keyboard, writing a long, passive-aggressive email. Alisa had about twenty minutes before he checked on her.

She took a deep breath and looked at the text.

It simply said: Something came up at work. Don't think I can make it tonight :(

Alisa turned the phone over and tried not to cry.

The text was from Tyler, a man Alisa had sex with about once a week. Some would call them friends with benefits, but Alisa wasn't sure they were friends.

Alisa was horny in a way that made her restless. Being surrounded by people in the office only increased her ambient anxiety. She fidgeted in her seat. Clicked between open tabs without absorbing their contents. Her mind was miles away, thinking of Tyler's hands on her body. Caressing her face. Her breasts. Her inner thighs.

She was counting on seeing Tyler tonight to rid her body of this unsettled feeling, but rescheduling with him was a nightmare. It might be a week before they agreed on a new date and time. For Alisa, this was an unbearably long time not to be touched.

Alisa flipped the phone back over. Maybe she could turn this around.

Alisa and Tyler met on Tinder. Alisa was new to dating apps, and Tyler was one of the first people she matched with, so their banal conversation excited her. They both liked hiking, movies, and travel. They both worked too much and joked about it in a self-deprecating manner. They lived less than twenty minutes from each other. A date was set.

They met at a bar in West Hollywood where the cheapest cocktail was $17. The drinks had names like “The Tempress” and “Cold War No. 2”. Alisa regretted letting him pick the place. She was more at home at “old man” Irish pubs or chain restaurants like the Olive Garden or Red Lobster – places where the default dress size wasn't double zero and frozen margaritas were an acceptable drink choice.

As Alisa approached the lone man standing outside the bar, squinting at his phone, she was pleasantly surprised. He wasn't movie-star handsome, but his features were sharp. He had a well-groomed beard and piercing gray eyes. He was on the shorter side but taller than her, which is all that mattered. His teeth were perfect.

Alisa hadn't had sex in six months, and she was getting desperate. Her desire was so strong she had begun assessing the fuckability of pretty much every man she came in contact with. She came to this over-priced bar to hook up. She would have settled for pretty much anyone, so an attractive man was an exciting development.

But Tyler seemed hell-bent on repelling Alisa. He talked about subjects she knew nothing about (his free diving hobby, his take on moral relativism). Alisa tried to redirect the conversation to the topics she'd prepared in her head (frivolous pop culture gossip, an embarrassing but endearing story about how she almost threw up on Miley Cyrus on a boat), but the drink she nervously finished in the first twenty minutes made her light-headed. Luckily, Tyler seemed more than happy to do all the talking.

Alisa resigned herself to going home alone. She could still salvage the night by getting high and watching Criminal Minds. Maybe she could stop for ice cream on the way home. Or Froyo? She still had that Yogurtland gift card...

No, she thought. For once, I'm going to take what I want.

Alisa tuned back into the conversation. Tyler was talking about a series of terrible dates he'd recently been on, and Alisa heard herself say, “Oh really? Should we get another drink and talk about them?”

This was how Alisa turned the tables. As Tyler complained about his bad dates, Alisa nodded emphatically, adding the occasional, “That's crazy” or “I can't believe she said that”, subtly asserting how different she was from those women. Casually, she mentioned she just got out of a seven-year relationship and wasn't looking for “anything serious”. Suddenly, Tyler was very interested in what she had to say.

Despite her desire, when Tyler leaned forward and suggested they go back to his place, Alisa's first instinct was to say ‘no.’ She'd never hooked up with a stranger before. The idea was terrifying. But also exciting. For the first time in a long time, Alisa was doing something bold, something risky.

She said yes.

Alisa stared at her phone. There had to be a way to change Tyler's mind. The question was how. Everything hung on one text.

She had to play it cool. But not too cool, or he'd think it was no big deal to blow her off. She needed to tell him she was available. But not too available, or that would come off as desperate. Alisa was at a loss. She could feel the night with Tyler slipping through her fingers.

Alisa screenshotted the message and sent it to her roommate, Marianne.

Marianne was a master of seduction. At all times, Marianne was texting at least five different guys. She lined up dates for every night of the week so that she didn't have to pay for dinner. When they went to a bar together, Marianne was swarmed by men trying to buy her drinks. Marianne knew how to choose the one who would make her cum six times by giving her cunnilingus for an hour straight. Alisa always got stuck with the cunnilingus guy's friend who was married or an unsuccessful actor.

Marianne was confident. Fearless. She was everything Alisa wasn't.

Marianne was the reason Alisa was in this situation to begin with. She vividly remembered the Saturday afternoon she walked into Marianne's room and dully announced, “I miss him.” Marianne sat up in bed, naked with the covers pulled over her, eyes unfocused from a nap. She patted the side of the bed, and Alisa laid down next to her. With the curtains drawn and pastel-colored silks hanging from the ceiling, the room felt like a womb.

“No, you don't. You just need some good dick.” And with that, Marianne took Alisa's phone and downloaded Tinder.

Alisa's phone buzzed, bringing her back to the present. “You're overthinking this” was Marianna's reply. Alisa sighed. Well, yeah, that was obvious.

Tell your boyfriend you want to sit on his face and if he doesn't come over tonight you'll find someone else.

Marianne liked to tease Alisa by calling Tyler her boyfriend. The fact that Alisa had only slept with one man since her break-up greatly worried Marianne. It was a sign of weakness. The correct number of men to be sleeping with at any given time was five to seven. That way, if one canceled or suddenly developed strong feelings for you, you could call his replacement in a heartbeat.

Alisa tried to picture herself telling Tyler she wanted to sit on his face.

I don't think he's really into that kind of thing, Alisa responded.

You're hopeless.

Alisa's history with men had not prepared her for this moment. When Alisa was in high school, she was in love with the idea of having a boyfriend. The actual boy who would be in the relationship with her was incidental. Alisa was a quiet, nerdy girl. She had braces with elastics and played bass clarinet in the marching band. To the boys in her school, she was worse than unattractive, she was completely invisible.

The longer she was single, the stronger her fantasy grew. She believed if she could get a boyfriend, the deep, gnawing, all-consuming loneliness that filled her teenage years would disappear. But being in a relationship for seven years taught Alisa that having a boyfriend did not free you from loneliness. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Alisa and her (future) ex got together during their freshman year of college. They were in the same friend group. They enjoyed the same types of movies (horror, sci-fi) and disliked the same people (fake LA types who went to overpriced bars). After an especially fireball-filled St. Patrick's Day party, they hooked up and never stopped.

Alisa and her ex were both pathologically passive. Alisa guessed that was how she ended up in a seven-year relationship with someone she didn't love. She assumed it would naturally come to an end at some point. But it kept going... and going... and going...

They had a comfortable routine, but Alisa felt like her life was passing her by. So she ended it.

The break-up was like diving into ice cold ocean water. It was deeply unpleasant, but for the first time in a long time, Alisa felt wide awake. She wanted to take charge of her life. Go out of her comfort zone. Travel. Make new friends. Be spontaneous.

It was all going as planned until she met Tyler.

At first, Alisa's relationship (lowercase “r”) with Tyler was exactly what she wanted, the antidote to her seven years of ennui. They weren't dating. That was for sure. But they also weren't not dating. This gray area was something Alisa reveled in. It made her feel powerful to say she was “hooking up” with someone. She wasn't one of these pathetic women who needed commitment from a man. She was evolved. She was cool. She was like a character from a TV show, one of the fun ones who went on dates with lots of different men. Except Alisa only saw Tyler. And they didn't go on dates.

She could see other people, of course. But she didn't. She re-downloaded Tinder a few times since meeting Tyler, mostly in response to his flakiness. But every time she opened the app, she got a sinking feeling in her stomach. She didn't want to meet new people, especially not these people. Tinder was full of guys who thought sending dick pics was an acceptable form of flirting. Or, even worse, men who were really, truly boring. At this point, she had replicated the meaningless “get to know you” conversation so many times that it felt more like solving a math problem than flirting.

Tyler was easy, and he probably wasn't going to murder her.

Alisa didn't know much about Tyler. They rarely talked about their personal lives after sex. Alisa wasn't sure of his tolerance for her yet. If she asked too many questions, he might think she was becoming attached. Attachment is the cardinal sin of hook-up culture for which the punishment is always ghosting. Marianne had drilled this into her repeatedly. But Alisa had picked up a few things about him. He wasn't close with his mom, who he talked about with disdain. He was very concerned with his appearance, as evidenced by the skin treatments in his bathroom and the pull-up bar hanging from the bedroom door frame. He was well-read, dropping references to classic books into their conversations like a test. Alisa didn't get most of the references and dutifully asked him to explain, allowing him to boost his ego.

In a normal context, these things would repel Alisa. But for some reason, she found herself more and more attracted to him, even as she grew to hate him as a person.

Tyler took up a large part of her brain. She thought about him at work. On her drive home. At dinner with friends. She thought about him when she woke up and before she went to sleep. She mostly thought about having sex with him, but sometimes she'd fantasize about something as mundane as bumping into him at the grocery store. If she saw him in the produce aisle, would they say hi? Would they give each other aloof nods? Would he recognize her?

Her preoccupation with Tyler was frustrating because she had other, more important things she wanted to think about. She wanted to get promoted at work. She wanted to learn how to play piano. She wanted to read books on feminist political theory and form her own complicated and nuanced opinions. Instead, her mind often turned to this man whom she barely knew- barely liked. What was the point of breaking up with her ex if all she was going to do was think about a different guy?

“You're dick-ma-tized!” Marianne had said, matter of factly, “You got a whiff of his pheromones and now all your animal brain wants to do is procreate.” Marianne meant this as a warning, but it comforted Alisa. If her attraction was biological, there was nothing she could do but give in.

The first night Alisa went to Tyler's, she was shocked at his apartment. The place was spotless. Alisa had never seen a home so clean, especially not a man's. Alisa wondered if Tyler was a serial killer and she was in the last moments of her life. Later, she found out Tyler had a maid. She wasn't sure if this was better or worse than him being a sociopath.

Tyler made her a drink. Alisa wasn't sure what to do with herself. Should she linger by his side or sit coyly on the couch? Unable to make up her mind, she stood awkwardly between the kitchen and living room, not close enough to have a conversation, but too close to pretend to be indifferent.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch. Alisa nervously sipped her drink. Tyler grabbed one of her feet and began massaging it. Alisa had, under Marianne's watchful eye, meticulously planned her outfit for that night (black low-cut top, high-waisted jeans, Marianne's white and black Steve Madden platform boots). But as Tyler touched her foot, she realized her socks were mismatched. She pointed this out, and he laughed. It was a warm laugh. It made her feel safe.

So she kissed him.

The next day, Alisa told Marianne it was the best sex she ever had. When Marianne asked why, what exactly did he do that was so mind-blowing, Alisa was at a loss.

It wasn't anything he did, but how he expressed his desire for her. The way he carried her to his bed as if he didn't want to break their embrace for even a moment. The way he entered her slowly, as if she felt so good he might cum from just one thrust. The way he moaned when she was on top. His voice saying “fuck, fuck, fuck” over and over again. The way he came immediately after she did as if he'd been walking on a tightrope the entire time.

In the days after, Alisa replayed these little moments in her head over and over. Her desire to see Tyler turned into a need. Like water or food. Alisa needed to fuck this man again.

Alisa thought of that night as she sat at her desk, phone still open to his message. She rocked back and forth in her office chair, but it did nothing to relieve the tension between her thighs. She wanted him badly.

Alisa weighed her options. She could take Marianne's advice and say something sexy. Are you sure baby? I'm wet for you already. But that did not sound like something she would ever say.

She could try something funny like, Np. I'll just call up my other guy. Was that funny? Although they weren't dating and, in theory, could sleep with other people, Alisa knew some guys got weird about that kind of thing. She didn't want to scare him off.

She could send a picture. Sending a nude unprompted felt deeply invasive, but Alisa knew guys liked that sort of thing. She contemplated going into the office bathroom, with its harsh fluorescent lighting and barf tan tile walls, and taking a picture of her boobs. Alisa couldn't think of anything less sexy.

Alisa sighed. This was all new to her. When she was with her ex, she'd simply text him, I'm horny. If he wanted to have sex with her, he'd simply text, You horny? There wasn't much in the way of seduction on either side.

Thinking about her ex made Alisa even more frustrated. She'd been trying to patch things up with him. Despite their lack of passion, they'd been best friends for seven years, and Alisa didn't want to lose that.

A month earlier, Alisa's ex invited her to her favorite restaurant, The Cheesecake Factory, to discuss boundaries for their continuing friendship. Alisa was excited that she could have her friend back. But the evening was not about boundaries or friendship. It was an ambush. Alisa's ex spent the entire meal (bread, appetizers, dinner, and Oreo® Dream Extreme Cheesecake) trying to convince Alisa they should get back together. Alisa was at a loss. She always thought they were on the same page in their apathy toward each other. This wasn't the man she dated for seven years.

It took a long time for Alisa to get a word in. Finally, she blurted the only thing she thought could change his mind. “I'm sleeping with someone else!” She said it so loudly that the table next to them turned to look.

The entire story came tumbling out of her mouth: the bougie bar, the bad date, the spotless apartment, even the maid (Alisa left out the best sex ever part because that would just be cruel). Alisa didn't tell her ex to hurt him. She told him because, as one of her oldest friends, she thought maybe he would understand her complicated feelings and explain them to her.

Her ex was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “It makes me sad to see you hurting yourself like this.” Hurting herself? Alisa was confused.

“You threw yourself at a guy who was an asshole to you,” her ex said in a tone that made Alisa feel like she flushed herself down the toilet.

“No!” Alisa wanted to say, “You don't understand. I'm using him for sex”. But Alisa knew that sounded stupid, so she said nothing.

Her ex bravely continued explaining why they should get back together. He wanted to embrace life with her - travel with her, dance with her, make love to her.

This final statement alarmed Alisa. She'd never “made love” and was certain it would be an unpleasant experience, like walking on the beach in winter with no coat. When she said this to her ex, he said she was emotionally stunted and needed therapy. They finished their respective cheesecakes in icy silence.

Alisa turned her phone over. Maybe her ex was right.

She stared at her computer, but the words on the screen blurred together. Seeing that her boss was still occupied with his petty inner-office dispute, she got up from her desk and grabbed her coat.

Alisa stepped into the sweltering afternoon heat of Hollywood Blvd. She took a deep breath, taking in the unmistakable stench of human waste. When she first got her job, the prospect of working in the heart of Hollywood was exhilarating. She thought it would be glamorous and fun. She quickly discovered it was the exact opposite.

As Alisa walked down the street, she sidestepped a group of tourists who stopped abruptly to take a picture with Marilyn Monroe's star. A woman with a creepy smile offered her a pamphlet on the healing power of Dianetics. A homeless man stumbled so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Low-rent Spiderman tried to convince her to take a photo with him.

Alisa dodged these obstacles with practiced indifference, lost in one of her favorite fantasies. In the fantasy, she was inside Tyler's head. He was at a bar. It was a chill night, just a few beers with his buddies. Then Alisa breezed in with her friends. Tyler recognized her immediately, but did not say hi. Instead, he watched her. He was impressed by her words, the ease of her laughter. Her kind, relaxed manner. He really saw her for the first time and realized he liked her.

Alisa knew this fantasy was improbable for many reasons. She was not a fun, carefree, happy-go-lucky girl. She was a serious pessimist with anxiety issues. But even more painful, she knew Tyler did not think of her. Period. Her interior life was of zero interest to him. He did not poke around her bathroom cabinets, wondering what kind of person she was. It simply did not cross his mind to care.

Alisa turned a corner too quickly and almost bumped into Tyler.

The moment she'd been preparing for was here. This was Alisa's chance to... To what? Declare her undying love for him? Pretend she did recognize him out of spite? Ask him why he had such a bad relationship with his mom?

Only it wasn't Tyler. It was just some white guy with a similar haircut. The man scowled as he brushed past her. Alisa turned to watch the lookalike cross the street. The collision of fantasy and reality spooked her.

If she just wanted to have sex, as she told herself over and over, why did she care what Tyler thought of her? She felt like that awkward high schooler, lugging around her oversized clarinet case, simultaneously hoping for and shying away from the gaze of her male classmates. She was pathetic. Obsessing over this text. Obsessing over this guy who didn't give a single fuck about her. She was a sad excuse for a feminist.

Alisa recalled a conversation she had in the calming cocoon of Marianne's bedroom. She'd been rehashing her terrible dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. “I don't understand why he wants to get back together. I broke his heart. He should hate me.”

Marianne smiled knowingly, like she was teaching a child to ride a bike. “Of course he wants to get back together with you. People will do anything to feel loved.” Alisa initially brushed this off as one of Marianne's pop psychology regurgitations, but now, in her horny, lonely, chaotic state of mind, she realized the naked truth of it.

Maybe, Alisa thought, I'm actually normal.

Alisa centered herself in the present. She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, drenched in sweat from the unrelenting LA sun. A cockroach scampered across her foot. Tourists, talking in various languages, pushed past either side of her.

What would make Tyler feel loved? If she could figure that out, she could summon him to her bedroom. She took a deep breath and started walking.

Tyler talked a lot about himself on their first date. Alisa tried to recall their conversation in that dark, overpriced bar. She had been thinking about frozen yogurt, and Tyler was saying...that his ex always cooked for him when he got home from work after a long day. Alisa picked up the pace. What exactly had he said? “I never had to ask. She just knew.”

Alisa pulled out her phone and typed, “No worries! If you get done early, I could make dinner. I have some salmon in the fridge”.

Alisa examined the message. She changed “could” to “will” and hit send.

After they ate, Tyler offered to give Alisa a massage. He told her to take off her clothes and lay face down on her bed. Alisa did as she was told. The sheets were cold against her skin. She had to make an effort not to shiver.

For once, Alisa was completely in the present. She thought of nothing besides Tyler's hands lightly caressing her back. His fingers moved down her butt, then between her legs. “You're very wet,” he murmured.

“I've been thinking about this all day,” said Alisa.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alisa saw Tyler slip off his boxers. “What happened to the massage?” she teased.

“We can do that later,” he said as he moved inside of her. Alisa gasped. She wrapped her legs around his butt to pull him deeper.

Tyler flipped her around so she was on top. Alisa touched herself as she watched his face. His eyes were closed. His lips formed an “O”.

“Fuck,” he said, “You feel...” His voice trailed off and then, “I've been thinking about you all day, too.” Alisa let out a short whimper as she came.

Afterward, they held each other loosely. Alisa stared up at the white stucco ceiling. Tyler was saying something about work, but Alisa wasn't listening. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to keep living inside herself where it was safe.

“You're really aloof, you know that? I can never read you,” Tyler said out of nowhere. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice that surprised Alisa. She didn't feel aloof. She felt vacant.

But she played along. “Don't guys love mysterious girls?”

Tyler shrugged. “Only if they're insanely hot.”

Tyler got dressed and thanked her again for dinner. “I'll cook for you next time.” Alisa nodded, even though she knew this meal would never happen. Tyler kissed her, and then he was gone.

Alisa stood, fixed the sheets, and checked her phone. She had a text from Marianne asking about her “boyfriend”. Alisa typed out a very long response that ended with, I don't think I'm capable of love. She read and re-read the message several times. Her finger hovered over the send button. At the last second, she held down the delete key until the message disappeared.

Instead, she wrote, I got him to come over no problem haha.

Marianne responded immediately, Told you! Boys are easy.

I know. I got exactly what I wanted.