She whispers through vodka breath that she wants you more than she ever has, her hands under your shirt and her lips against yours, and you whisper through cigarette breath and a strangely sober mind that you can't, you just can't.
She knows you can though, knows you want to, and she must know the way that she kisses you gives you chills, because your shirt's over your head and then it's thrown onto your floor while she tangles your limbs and hers up in your sheets and you're breaking all over again. She's breaking your fucking heart all over again when she whispers that she loves you and traces her hands across your stomach, and you don't know quite how they got there or when you pulled her shirt off, but your hands are under her bra and you may as well give her what she wants.
You love her. She's the one that got away. She's the one you never really got over, and she's the one that only ever wanted you for your body in the first place. And in the beginning, you just wanted her because she was the one who couldn't ever break your heart, because you'd never let her. She just wasn't the kind of person that you'd fall for, but it's been four months now and she makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end the way she never could when she actually almost felt the same way you do now.
You never had sex with her before, but you came close. At the time, you'd walked away and took your train back home and you didn't think twice about her hand down your pants the night before, and you never really did until she broke up with you a month later.
It's all she wants you for now. All she really wants is to get rid of her fucking virginity and it's not like sex would matter to you just because you've had it before. That's what she's thinking, you know it is. She wants your body and you want her.
This is the closest you'll ever get.
She's laying under you and she mumbles that the room's spinning and then she's kissing you again, her tongue in your mouth and her hands in your hair, and you're caught between pushing her away and crying and just ignoring the way your chest hurts like it did when she told you that she loves you, she just can't be with you.
And fine, maybe it's pathetic, maybe it's obsessive and sad and you should just get over her, but you can't. Simple as that. God, you've tried. You've gone weeks without even saying a word to her and you've screwed around with other people and you tried to force yourself to like some guy, but in the end it's always come back to her.
You really do want to cry.
You're not kissing her anymore, you're realizing, and she's looking up at you through glassy eyes and she doesn't have to say anything for you to know that she doesn't want you to stop, doesn't want you to say anything else because you've close enough already to ruining her good time.
She's been busy "falling in love" with every girl she's dated and the guy that she claims sexually harassed her, and then getting over them by the end of the week, and she just skipped over you. And it must be that something's wrong with you that you love her more than any of them but she's never really felt a thing for you. That's not your insecurities talking, that's just common sense. She's never cried over you, never stayed up until four in the morning just thinking about you, because if she did, she'd have just gone and asked you back out. You're just her good time and her chance to get laid and her confidence boost.
It's pathetic because it's okay to you.
You've got your mouth on her collarbone, her nipples, and your hand's between her legs, and you can feel her breathing and arching her back against you, because the closest she's ever been to this before is being felt up. And you've got one and two fingers inside her, and you're learning to make it so that you can't feel a single fucking thing. Just don't think anymore and that feeling in the pit of your stomach goes away and then everything's okay and she's just another stupid hookup.
It's this state of depersonalization that explains why you don't realize that you're eating her out until you hear her moaning, and then her voice cracks and her hips jerk against your mouth and the moans dissipate into heavy breathing, and then she's laying there under you and you can taste her in your mouth and your job's done.
She doesn't need you for a single fucking thing anymore.
You're laying next to her now, twisting her hair around your fingers and you force a hollow smile that she can't see in the dark room anyway, and she has the nerve to lean over and kiss you.
At least you can pretend for a moment, right?
She looks at you, smiles and whispers that she loves you, and you're reminded again by the way her breath smells that it's just a drunk hookup and she can actually lie to you. But you want her to be happy, so you whisper that you love her too, and you're not even mad when she starts to fall asleep.
"Goodnight, Carly,"
You're kissing her forehead, and you play with her hair long after she's fallen asleep. After what you're sure was at least half an hour, you pull yourself up, stumble across your room and work your way through a twelve pack. It's easier if you're not the only one who remembers.
She was supposed to be the one you'd never look back at, but now you've gone through four shots and a case of beer to just forget her for a few hours.
--
Sigh. Writer's block. Still. D: This is another one of those 'completely based of me/me&myexsam' stories. hah. welcome to my life i guess.
wow. writing this just made me depressed. lmao. :/