Disclaimer: I own no rights to skins

In and out. In and out. In and out.
I could lay here forever watching Emily sleep. She was like an angel; a perfect, stunning angel. Her Chest rose and fell with each shudder of a breath, reminding me of how fragile she really was; her hair framed her face, curling against the pillow naturally; her soft mouth was raised at the edges in simple little smile; her bare back lay free to world in blissful innocence not even slightly tainted by the acts of the last night. But the best part was the small, contented sighs she murmured from her dreamy wonderland. She was always beautiful, but it was these moments that were my favorite memories of her; when reality was stripped away and there was nothing but her pure beauty surrounding me.
I ran my finger between her shoulder blades, shivering at the way her flesh seemed to welcome my touch. I let out a sigh, but not nearly as contented as hers. She was everything I was not. I'd hurt her in the end, again. I didn't want to ruin her, so I'd hurt her now. Save us the trouble. But my heart, and body, still ached longingly for her.
I stood up, bending down to grab my clothes. I slid my underwear up my legs, and then shoved my arms through my bra straps. I hooked it in the back, letting it settle around my petite breasts.
Breasts. Oh god. Emily's breasts. I'd been with other women, but none looked like her. Just thinking about the small curves on her body made me dizzy. I could taste the salt of her skin; I could feel the goose bumps that rose around each nipple with the tenderest of grazes; I could anticipate the hardness of her wanting me back just as eagerly.
I felt myself get wet, and the air around me smelt sickly sweet. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts and walking out of my room with my clothes. I needed out of there or I'd never leave her. Just thinking had made me come.
I ran my hands up and down my arms, crossing them, hoping to get warmer as I ran out of my house and to the bus stop. It was 2 am, and if anyone was looking I didn't give a fuck. I got pulled a sweater over my head, and tugged my skirt from last night up to my waist. I kept walking. I didn't have anywhere to go, and, in fact, it made no sense that I was going. I had left her in my bed, in my house. It was mine. But I left. I couldn't stand to disrupt perfection.
Tears stream down my face but I keep walking for hours on end. She never calls. When I get home, all that's left are the rumpled sheets as evidence of last night's indiscretions. I sit down, no more tears left to cry, just thoughts left to think