.
Their relationship is falling apart.
He wasn't there for her. / She wasn't there for him.
It was partly her fault. / It was partly his fault.
She didn't try hard enough. / He didn't try hard enough.
So what could she do when he is holding other girl in his arm right in front of her? / So why is he trying to hurt her?
.
His hands roaming desperately all over her body, trying to feel all of the warmth exuding from her. His lips hungrily devouring her mouth, forcing her to let out a soft sweet sigh. His touch sent shivers through her nerves, making her whole body tremble. She reached up for his neck, pulling him closer; threading her fingers through his blonde hair, twirling around his loose ponytail. He cupped the back of her head, controlling the angle of the kiss. He wants to show her who has the power to control her.
He wants to show her HE has the power to control her.
She doesn't mind. She wants this. She wants him to be rough, to ruthlessly fill her with ecstasy. Until her fervent need that she has never known before being unleashed right in front of him.
The room is filled with their sweet moan of bliss. They needed air, but they couldn't stop. They need more. But he knew he needs to stop now. He needs to stop now so he can give her more.
His lips left her shaking lips; a soft desperate moan escaping between those swollen lips. Was it a satisfied sigh? Or was it to tell him that she is craving for his lips? He's not sure, but he wants to hear more of it.
He bent down, brushing his lips lightly against her cheek– nestling his lips on her shoulder.
"If you want me to stop," he whispered between his kisses. "Tell me now."
She feels dizzy. She loves it when he caresses her gently with his large, rough hand. She loves the warmth of his hands, feeling the calluses of his fingers touching every inch of her skin. She loves feeling his hot breath and the vibration of his low honeyed voice whispering into her ear.
Except for this time, he wasn't whispering to her. The teal-haired color doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to her bright blonde hair– like his bright blonde hair. The girl in his arm, the girl that he is holding tightly to his body, it is not her.
...
Yes, he knew it too. He knew the girl that he is holding is not her. The moment their eyes meet, he didn't try to stop. He continues to bring pleasure to the girl with his eyes fixed to her.
Fixed to the petite blonde girl standing by the door.
...
She is still standing there, not moving an inch. Should she yell? Should she cry? Should she be mad or sad? Disappointed?
She knew she wanted to say something –but what? There's a lump in her throat and she wasn't even sure why is it there in the first place. If she is feeling sad, why are there no tears falling from her eyes? If she is angry then why doesn't she feel the burning fire raging inside her, consuming her?
...
He is confused. He wants her to feel hurt. He wants her to feel betrayed, to feel worthless. Hopeless. Weak. The aching inside, he wants her to ache too. But that look– she has that same look. The look that he had never understood.
Why aren't you yelling? Why aren't you shouting? Why are you just standing there doing nothing?
Couldn't she just be like a normal girl? Barging into the room, shouting, screaming. Throwing everything they can reach. Cry. Yes, cry.
Just cry.
...
She is confused. He knows she is there, why isn't he saying anything. Shouldn't he stop now, trying to explain what is really happening. He could've just lie to her. She doesn't mind. She just wants him to do something–
because she doesn't know what to do.
But he isn't doing anything. He isn't stopping. So she decides to do what she can do best. What she knows best.
She slowly closes the door and leave.
...
He still doesn't know why is he doing this. Why is he trying to hurt her? Why does he want to hurt her so much?
No.
Why am I the one who's hurting?
.
.
.
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A/N - So it's finals week and guess who is not studying.