Wicked Games

Incapable of love?

The older he grew, the less he understood himself.

Most days, he felt nothing. Not even for the girl sleeping ever so quietly beside him. But some days, the emotions hit him hard.

He couldn't help but gently stroke her hair. He felt ashamed of himself when he finally gave into the urge of crawling into the bed, still fully clothed, and ever so gently pull her into his embrace. She was ever the space hogger, but he did not fear waking her while adjusting her position to scoot in, for the woman slept like the dead.

It felt nice. He told himself. Just a little indulgence. He wasn't in love; he wasn't capable of it. And he didn't want her to climb over moons thinking he loved her. Loved him, as she kept telling him, so many times while she was drunk enough not to remember all that she had babbled the next day. But never sober.

He was a sensible person, and unlike her, he would never let himself become so vulnerable. He didn't understand how she did it, how she put herself at his mercy. Whatever you want, she said. Anything. And the surprising thing was, she didn't lie. All these months, with all the twisted games his mind came up with, she had never used their safeword even once. He had to gauge her every expression because he knew somewhere deep inside, she was stubbornly reluctant to use it, even if he went too far. But that scared him into being ever the more careful with her.

He didn't understand himself either. Why he stole intimate moments when she was asleep, or too drunk to remember. Like he didn't want her to find out. A twisted game of hide and seek to match their sex life. It was a weird feeling because he knew all she would actually be was elated if she ever found out.

He placed an ever so light kiss on her forehead and then reluctantly got out of the twin bed she lay in.

Even a shower didn't get rid of the incessant urge for cuddling, even though sleeping together felt rather cramped in summer. And he hated the heat. Despised it. They needed to get an air conditioner before the heat killed them, and for all the complaining they did, they procrastinated just as much. And a bigger bed. The twin bed situation irked him.

Returning, he cleaned up the other twin bed. From the position of her book and her glasses, and the pens and paper littered, he could make out that she probably gave up halfway attempting to study. There was also a lone sock, a bra she probably took off as soon as she was home because it was too hot, and crumbs. He pulled a face at that. Crumbs. He had told her so many times not to eat in bed, but she always did it anyways as they usually ended up sleeping together on one twin bed, while the other was basically used for studying, eating, placing unfolded laundry on.

But the weather was getting too hot. And he didn't want to sleep on crumbs. So he cleaned up, changed the sheets. But just as he was about to switch off the lights, he noticed she was back to her starfish pose, her pillow kicked out, and one leg dangling out of the bedcover. He sighed, and adjusted her position once again, even though he knew very well that she would be back to her normal position in no time. And he also gave her a good night kiss, not that the woman would ever realise it. Her antics made him roll his eyes all the time.

It also irked him how well he knew her by now. How easy reading her came to him. It probably had a lot to do with being forced to listen and tolerate her drunken blabbering but as a result, he knew her better than he knew himself. Even with their conflicting schedules and overworking personalities, they could barely meet every week once or twice despite living in the same tiny apartment.

He sighed thinking she had to work early, even though he was completely free. There goes another day without sex. He should probably ask her when she was free next. He had a brilliant idea for their next sexcapade. Though with the way she kept working her shifts, sometimes for days at once, he wondered how she would even have the energy. It was a sad, sad life when the only sex they could manage to squeeze into their schedule was the once-a-week quickie. And the occasional oral when they were lucky. It was pathetic really. They both needed to get a life outside work.