Story bits that I've been working on

              It’s hard to move on. Sometimes I get stuck on how much I miss her and freeze up in the morning. Sometimes I sip coffee and remember how she used to smile when she came into the kitchen after waking up and seeing me. Sometimes the pain in my shoulders reminds me of how she would always fret about me taking a shower. My face contorts to a grimace for a second before I regain control of my mouth, a silent sob barred exit from my throat. I’ve got to get that under control.

             I roll over in the bed. Dim moonlight filters through thin curtains. Cars echo through the silence with a dull thunder that ripples through the earth, unceasing. It’s hard to admit that she’s gone. Some part of me doesn’t want to accept it, not for real anyway. She’s too smart to die.

             Adam’s ringtone startles me. He should know better than to call in the middle of the night, even if it’s daylight for him. “Hey, you’re in a good spot right now. Head just south of where you are right now and you’ll find an old strip mall or something that’s been turned into a storage facility, I want you to check it out, get an idea of how full it is. Report back when you have a scan of the inside and get moving again.” The call ends with a sudden click. He never waits for me to respond anymore.

             A sigh escapes my lips as I sit up. The right arm clicks into place and quickly maneuvers to flex its fingers in a proof of its function. I have time for some toast, maybe, before Adam bugs me again.

             I wonder what she’s doing right now.

             The morning is grey again. Its air carries the hint of rain through my helmet and into my nose. I’ll be on the road for another three hours either way, nowhere to stop until I’ve made it into town. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh this time, a blacksite with info that Adam’s been salivating over all week. He’s getting comfortable sending me out of my way at this point, probably for the better. Anywhere is safer than the apartment, not like I could bare to be back in there again.

             The sky’s looked like this for a while, even if the rain never comes.

             My phone buzzes, to which the right hand taps the left side of my helmet to pick up. “Hello, Ash.” Not a familiar voice this time.

             “Who is this?” My voice is muffled by the helmet and the wind, dull to my ears.

             “Meet us today, 3 PM sharp at the roadside café off exit 46. We will explain further.” The call ends. I’m getting sick of not getting a word in.

             The roadside café is tiny, windows dulled with smog from the highway overhead. People mill in old style booths and at a dim red counter talking amongst themselves. No heads pop up when I enter through the door, save for a waitress who stands up and crosses to the edge of the counter and beckons me over. “Hey, are you the owner of the bike out there?” Her voice is laced with nicotine and stress. I nod, it dawns on me that I’m still wearing my helmet. She points to a derelict booth dirtied with half eaten food, “the guy sitting there asked me to bring you over when you got here, he’s in the bathroom right now. Need anything?”

             “Just some coffee, please.”