(18+ EXPLICIT CONTENT)
"I'm good at other things too, sweetheart," His voice was gruff and husky, my lips unconsciously parting in a daze. He's standing dangerously close to me, trapping me between him and my cupboards. The tension is suffocating an...
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The sweet scent of vanilla swirled through my apartment as I promptly gripped my purse off the counter, my intentions strictly on the door. A faint wheeze of the wind sounded from my unlatched window, delicately fumbling with my cotton curtains as I curled my fingers around the doorknob. I had decided on casual clothes that day: a loose white shirt, plain black leggings, and some hightop red converse--something nostalgic from my high school days.
A couple days had passed since my encounter with Will and I couldn't stop overthinking every little aspect of it--like how much I wanted to kiss him, for instance. From the span of the year I took healing and seeing Bridget as my therapist, I found no urge to go to Will's house, to talk with him, nor to kiss him. It was like my mind subconsciously began to block him out like a vile memory. Which was similar to the image of them in our bed together.
It was like his touch triggered something internally, stimulating this once repulsive desire for his lips.
Don't get me wrong, there's still an unimaginable amount of resentment and despair that tingles whenever I think of him. But that doesn't obliterate the odd longing for one more kiss, one more touch. These feelings were relentlessly deriving from these unsettled demands I completely ignored by repulsion. By the very means of repugnance and disgust from their haunting image in my bedroom, it was the way I cut off the feelings completely--instead supplementing it with anger towards the both of them.
He fucked it all up for me the very moment he connected with my skin. Granted, the whole situation caused an unfaltering irritation within myself, knowing I should be over that bastard by now. And I was, hence the reason there's this blockage to my feelings for him--it was only the yearning for his touch and being, like there was no strings attached.
Which brings me to my next dilemma that I couldn't stop pondering: Jack. That night, when he dropped me off to my apartment, there was this newfound awkwardness that began to make me feel slightly low-spirited. He'd walked me up to the door, not even bothering taking a step instead, before rushing off like he had better things to do. He did attempt to reassure me in the car, but with his actions, it appeared I majorly fucked things up.
It caused me to replay my words over and over in my head until I cognitively could not anymore. I'd questioned my diction, rephrasing it redundantly even though the conversation had been long over. There was nothing I could say to reassure him at this point, because hell, I couldn't even reassure myself with those toxic thoughts floating in the back of my head.
When I say Will fucked me up, he truly did.
Therefore, I took my off day to enjoy the presence of my witty, unconventional family--which today consisted of my dad and my brother. They'd agreed to meet at our favorite diner at our habitual time with the respect of wanting to hear about my disaster of a life. It was something we had done since my parents got divorced, a place we'd delegated to visit like a good ole family--with the absence of my mother.
