The Bad Thing

Open.

The next day I wake up exhausted. I remember 65% of yesterday's happenings and that's because I drunk too much so as to forget how bored I was. Unfortunately, the guy I went out with wasn't really my type. Okay correction, I don't like to believe that I have a type. I mean, a specific type that suits me. I feel like I'm excluding feelings that I'm afraid to feel. Which, not surprisingly, brings me back to that bastard. Alex. In this case, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm surpressing my feelings in order to not feel, which is impossible and really annoying to deal with.

I decide not to go to work today. I'm too tired and since the store is mine I can do that. I just lay on bed and stare at the ceiling emotionless. Why can't I find someone that makes me feel like Alex does? But then again, what does Alex make me feel? It's so frustrating, because he hasn't even let me decide what and how to feel. His attitude is pissing me off but at the same time turning me on. I wish I could feel what he feels. Nothing. At least that's what he shows. Nothing except sex. Even as a sentence sounds terrifying, but relaxing.

I think I must control myself. If I want to stop feeling that way about someone that's never going to give back anything but sexual action, I'll have to stop talking to him. Stop letting him in. Stop answering to drunk texts. Stop answering to sober-but still sounding like drunk- calls.

The day passes, with me donig 0 productive things and feel 0 guilt. That's probably my favorite feeling. Now the time is 00:00 and I'm ready and set to sleep, when suddenly the door knocks. I don't have to overthink it. It's Alex.

I try to ignore the banging, which is not loud but still, and it's not easy. I approach the door.

"Alex stop".

"I'm sober I swear." he whispers into the wood of the door. I shut my eyes. Come on, don't give in.

"And I'm tired, I swear." I say.

I could hear his lips forming a smirk. "We'll just chill."My arms shiver.

We never chill.

"Go to sleep Al" I let out.

"Well, open then." He says, and I hate how perfectly he approaches this.

I abruptly open the door as I turn around and head to the kitchen in order to avoid his gaze, because I couldn't face him when I gave in once again. He "evily" giggles.

"Are you seriously avoiding me?" I hear him closing the door.

I don't answer.

"(y/n)!" he exclaims my name for me to answer.

I turn around to look at him. His hair was forming a messy quiff, his eyes big and soulful and his lips open, contouring a half smile I could so much die for. His figure is leaning in the doorframe of the kitchen and his palm cupping the bone of his v-line. 

"Shall we chill then?" he says, emphasizing the word chill using his perfect accent which makes me gasp.

"I don't want to chill with you." I say, without really knowing what I want to say here.

"Oh I know." he says approaching me. His hand fondles my neck and brings my hair back. "I know, you just want sex right now, or a good 10 hours of sleep. But I want to chill with you, so deal with it and bear with me." And if this sentence wasn't enough he adds, "Darling."