December Eve

February

"Can I do your hair?" I look down at him, my eyebrows scrunched together. He rests his chin on my bare chest, mischief and hope gleaming in those golden eyes. 

"I thought you liked my hair." I wrapped an arm around his tiny body and squeezed him slightly. I think one of the first things we talked about was the fact that he found that my dreads looked fashionable on my head. That I left Jamaicans "squealing." I still don't know what that means, nor will I ever know what that means. 

"Well yeah, I love your hair," he runs his glass fingers over my head, "but have you never thought about, I dunno, brushing it out at least?" The last time I had normal hair was before I moved to America with my Dad. My mother liked to tell me I had hair made from Chinese women because of how silky it was. I don't know if it held up though, I've had my dreads in since senior year of high school. 

"It would take forever, and I know you, and you don't have much patience. Besides, I just wanna lay in bed all day." I rolled on top of him, starfishing on his tiny frame. He starts giggling and slapping my back. 

"Get offa me, you bear." He kicked his legs in between my legs, trying to reach my crotch. I placed my arms on either side of his head and pushed myself onto my elbows. 

I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips in fake annoyance. "That's racist."

He gave me his traditional dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes so far back into his head I got scared for a second they would never come back. "Oh ma lord, how is that racist??"

I scrunched my eyebrows together in thought before saying, "It just is, dummy."

He rolled his eyes again, a knowing smile following. He shook his head and gazed at me. For a moment, everything stopped. A small smile grew on my face, loving how he started running his fingers on my arm, tracing the muscles there. He grew this habit, tracing my muscles because he loved how it calmed me down. 

He knew how to make me crumble to his touch, and he would abuse it constantly, but I didn't care. I found that it was better for me to crumble to his touch than for him to crumble to mine. 

Because if he did, I would make him shatter. 

"Now, will you let me do your hair?" he whispered, trailing his fingers up to my cheeks. Goddammit, he knew I couldn't say no. He abused my weakness, and now I am simply putty in his hands. If I'm being honest, I wanted to brush these things out for the longest time but didn't have the time, with running a BDSM club and all the strings attached to that. I knew and he knew this was our only lazy day, so why not let him use it?

I sigh contempt, but he knew what that meant. He smiled brightly and pressed a peck to my lips before squirming out of my hold. I lay back on the bed, watching him run to our bathroom in nothing but a shirt I got at some concert. I smiled at him cursing the shirt to prevent his mobility. I also smiled at the way his ass would bounce in that shirt, making it just as delicious. He sprinted back to me and grabbed my hand. "C'mon lazy ass, we have a lot to do." 

I open my eyes to the mirror in front of me. Water droplets ran trails down my body, stopping at the towel loosely wrung around my waist. They went down the same path he would take. A ghost of a smile was on my face, but as soon as it was there, it was gone. Before I burst into another set of tears, I walked into our room and threw my towel somewhere in the room. I went into the mess I called our closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a turtleneck. The jeans were a bit of a tight fit, but the turtleneck still fit me, considering the last time I wore it was our last date before... 

Wiping away the single tear that fell down my face, I pulled down the sleeves of the turtleneck, a habit I picked up from February. I walked into our room and toward the mirror.