The Routine Stephanie lay naked under the sheets, staring motionless at the ceiling, the beads of sweat making the already cold air feel even more so. She turned her head to see the back of the man who she barely knew, who she was just so intimate with, now sound asleep, worn out from the wild sex they had both just endured. She thought about all the men before; the endless number of beds in which she found herself in this same position, and how she never heard from them again. What ever happened to them?_ Why have they not called?_ She sat herself up on the edge of the bed, hesitating before quietly rising to search for her clothes strewn around the tiny room. The cold night air snuck in through the cracks in the window and danced across her exposed flesh. She noticed a napkin and a pen lying on the nightstand next to the bed, which she quickly scribbled her phone number on, then looked over at the man in frustration. _Why should I even bother? How many napkins in the world have I written my number on?_ She left it anyways, a part of her desperately clinging on to a lost hope that he may use it. She finished dressing herself and started for the door. As she turned the knob leading out to the hallway of the old motel, she heard the man sit up in bed to find her leaving. “Where are you going,” he groaned. She spun around to face him, nervously fingering the doorknob. “I got to get home, it's late,” she replied. “I left my number on the nightstand…” she trailed off cheerfully, hoping she wouldn’t have to tell him what to do with it. Thoughtfully nodding his head he said flatly, “I’ll call you,” before laying back down and pulling the blanket over his face. I’ll call you. She clenched her eyes shut as the words echoed painfully in her mind. Exactly how many times she heard those words before, she could never know, but it would be so much easier if they weren’t said at all. As she closed the door behind her and walked out towards the lobby, as the voice still...