(Madam, I Ain't Adam.)
Prompt: Infidelity.
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I don't know what draws me to him. Maybe it's the annoying way he laughs, like Wah-ya-ha-ha! Or maybe it's because his hair is the closest thing to yellow besides Ino—hers is platinum.
But I don't think that the feeling's mutual. I don't know about him but I know about me—I don't love him. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself as I see run bee-bopping down the halls with headphones on his ears or with his hands in his pockets or his arm around these strange, whore-girls that he doesn't even talk to.
I don't like people that aren't committed. I don't like how they say, "Sure, hon, I'll fuck you and love you at the same time"—no. Just stop it. Stop lying and get the damn truth pounded into your fucking head.
Maybe I'm fucking him and he's fucking me because my girlfriend just got out of high school. She's in the most prestigious school around.
I'm in my sophomore year.
She's four months older than I am.
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So maybe my girlfriend is a genius and that boy—that blondie—I'm fucking is an idiot. Or, at least—I think so. He's not in any advanced classes. This is a private school. He just laughs that annoying Wah-ya-ha-ha! laugh of his and says, "I'm just in here for the ride."
I am partially disgusted with my choice of fuck-buddy.
On the other hand, I am partially intrigued by his open-mindedness. Or maybe he's just an idiot.
It's Christmas break—I roll my eyes at this because nobody in this damn prison is Christian—and my girlfriend comes to visit me. She stays at my apartment like she always does—"My parents disowned me after I started smoking" and "My apartment got rented to someone else while I was gone"—those were her excuses.
I laugh at her faux-serious face and she smiles, kissing me on the lips, licking my collarbone and moving up to my Adam's apple, nibbling on my ears.
Sometimes, when I fuck Naruto, I wish he'd kiss softer.
Sometimes, when I fuck Sakura, I wish she'd kiss harder.
But I don't know. Maybe, underneath all of our layers, we love each other. Our feelings are the same.
On nights when I am with her, I don't miss Naruto at all.
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She leaves after a week, but not before kissing me, her mouth tasting like cigarettes and cherries. I don't think anyone cared—my entire family was dead and I had their fortune in my hands. I could do anything I wanted.
There are two cats in my house after Sakura left—that blondie gave them to me. I asked him, "Why the hell are your cats in my house?"
Blondie almost sheepishly grinned and replied, "They're not mine—I found them in the streets. I couldn't just leave them there and you have a big apartment and you're fucking rich—why can't you keep them?" He sniffed. "Hey, do I smell smoke?"
"Girlfriend," I say. "She's the one killing herself, not me." I almost winced at my own words.
I don't hate her. Honest.
"You have a girlfriend?" Blondie asks, almost skeptical and winked. "Go get them, right?" The two cats are rubbing themselves on me now. Blondie christened them Denka and Hina.
When he leaves and I return to my kitchen to cook something up, I see a note on the fridge. Sorry for everything, she wrote. Thanks for letting me stay at your place. I'm really sorry for being such a burden. I really wish I could pay you back. She signed her name in katakana.
The kitchen has lingering smells of her and cigarettes. Doesn't she see? She already paid me back.
I don't hate her but I think she hates me.
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I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I'm in love with Sakura—I really am—and then there's Blondie, walking down the halls and refusing to wear the uniform correctly. I think I'm drawn to messy people. Sakura smokes and Blondie is just Blondie.
Sakura's halfway across the world studying her ass off and I'm stuck here in this place I've been living in for all my life.
I think she pities me, and maybe that's why she comes back to me and fucks me because she's so cool. I don't think I deserve her.
It's when she leaves that my nonexistent heart breaks into a million bits. Blondie is the substitute.
But Sakura's the only one who can piece them together, and sometimes I hate her for that.
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About the world—I don't really care about the world. The world can die off for all that I care. And, that Sakura—I think she mistook me for someone that did. She needs someone that would love her back; she needs someone that would care for her lovingly; she needs someone faithful.
Me? I think I don't exactly fit those standards. I've been fucking Sakura; I've been fucking Naruto; it doesn't exactly matter to me.
There's my battered copy of Mrs. Dalloway on my desk. There are four empty water bottles on the nightstand near my bed—the bed I kissed and fucked Sakura in and the bed Naruto and I were in while I spoke dirty things in his ears. I really don't know what's wrong with me. I've been mistaken. I really have.
In the end, I guess I wasn't enough for Sakura, even though we've known each other for six years. Her lips touch my Adam's apple, pressing down gently. She's like a goddamn doe—always so fucking gentle. I tell myself, I hate her, except that that thought melts away when she kisses me, biting on the inside of my lips and I let out a strangled groan.
She gives me a goodbye-fuck and says, "Isn't it lovely?" She means the scenery.
"Yes, she is." I mean her.
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So, yeah, whatever; I don't know about her and she doesn't know about me. Maybe I loved her. So what if it was underage? I don't care. She doesn't care either.
It's the next day and there are scars on my back. I look into the mirror and see someone else staring back. That someone looked so sad and broken and he had love bites on his neck and a bite mark on his Adam's apple. He had a pale, long neck. Black hair and black eyes—he didn't look like me at all.
I stop. There is a peculiar scent that fills my room. The bed is messy and undone.
She left me, and she left a part of her heart in my hands, and she left my room with a scent of cigarettes and her, and it's lingering, its wispy tendrils of smell invading me and my vision (why is it so blurry?) and my smell.
She mistook me, and I think I mistook her, but I don't think it mattered either way.
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(End.)