Silent | HS

05.

shorter chapter today!!

When I bring a man back to my apartment, I make it abundantly apparent that I'm not looking for anything serious. Normally, they don't care and just want a fuck because well obviously, they're horny and seem to smell the fact I struggle with finding any self resistance.

We stumble into my apartment, where all my personal belongings lie, where I sleep and feel the most safe — and we fuck. Sometimes I'm kind enough to let them crash for the night, sometimes I just want to be alone so I can drown myself in self pity, reminding myself that yet again, I fucked someone who probably doesn't actually want me.

There hasn't been many men come back here since ive lived in New York. Usually, I decline and we fuck in the bathrooms or the nearest alleyway because I'm very protective over my home and don't want anyone to see the vulnerability I leave inside every day.

So, I only let them in when I think they won't mind my vulnerability.

The thing about men is you don't need to be pretty when they're horny. The word no suddenly becomes out of their vocabulary and their ears metaphorically burn off. The importance of the word becomes unclear and not important because men turn into animals when they have that euphoric, territorial adrenaline in them.

After a while, I just stopped saying no.

Surely, if I say no, nothing bad will happen and it'll be over quicker, right?

That's what a man thinks, anyway.

I'm fully aware my logic is completely fucked — and I can't help but blame my birth givers for planting that mindset deep inside of me. They never taught me the importance of consent and they failed to teach me that not all men want a woman, they just want a raised ego. They want another number to their list of fucks.

"Are you okay—?"

I blinked, rolling my eyes, "Get out."

He looked slightly hurt by my rudeness, but he should've expected it. He doesn't make any attempt to move, but instead, tries to pull me back into my bed. "Don't be bitter with me, baby. Come back to bed—"

Instantly, I was wrapping my fingers around his wrist and shoving him away from me before he had the opportunity to touch me again. He gasps.

"Don't make me ask again," I warned, pushing myself off my bed and heading towards my window to let some air in, "Grab your shit and get the fuck out of my house— fucking hell—" I grab his shirt and toss it at him, "Who dresses you? Your mother—?"

"Are you this rude to every guy who fucks you?" He picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head, frowning in confession, clearly taken back by my sudden attitude.

"If I remember correctly, I was fucking you," I rolled my eyes and tie my silk robe around my waist, "And quite frankly, I have no reason to respect you. Get the fuck out of my apartment, fuck."

"No."

I twirl around, "Excuse me?"

The man — I didn't even remember his name — pulls himself to sit up, bracing his hands on his knees, before he was leaning forwards, "Who's Harry?"

The fuck?

How does this guy know of Harry?

"None of your business, you freak—"

He shook his head, "Actually, I think it is my business when you were moaning his name instead of mine last night."

Ew.