Lover I Don't Have to Love

Fuck. Why would he do this to me? 'I was confused'. Yeah, you were confused all right, Asshole. Confused enough to forget that I don't look like a tall blonde? Confused enough to fuck her where we had? Yeah. I'd say that was pretty fucking confused.

I need a drink.

My hair looks like shit, and so does my face. God, it's all blotchy from the tears I wasted on that sick bastard. Ugh.

The water is too hot. It's racing down my neck to my shoulder and rushes onto my back. My muscles are loosening. I don't know why this hurts so much. Did I love him? No. It couldn't be that. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm replaceable.

I didn't see any problems with my body. Maybe that's it. Against the emerald towel my skin is pale and smooth…my hair is red. Is that it? The "Weasley Trademark"? No. He always said he loved my hair. He used to play with it after…I'm nauseous. Maybe it's my eyes…they aren't blue like hers. Mascara is all I'm going to do about it. No…It's not me. It's him. Fuck.

I need a drink.

I need something to get my mind off of this. I'll find a guy at the pub. Black looks nice on me.

"Wine. Red." Oh my God. What is he doing here? He can't see me like this.

"Hello Weasley…or are you going by Virginia these days?" God he's so smug.

"Fuck off."

"I like your shirt." But he's so handsome. He's a little too close. Isn't that what I wanted? I can feel his warm breath on my neck.

"Thanks." He's looking at me a little off. Why are his eyes so blue?

"Would you like to join me for dinner?" His voice is so deep…and hungry. His eyes are crawling on my skin and I'm reveling in the sensation. He doesn't love me...he wants me. And that's what I was looking for, isn't it.

"Sure." He grabs my hand to lead me from the bar.

His apartment is so lush. He's rummaging though the kitchen for some wine glasses. I take off my shoes so I can feel the carpet on my feet. He uncorks the bottle and sits with me. Red. My favorite. I set the glass down. So does he. He takes my hand again. His look this time is different. We both know where this is going I guess.

His sheets are black. Interesting choice. He pushes me gently on to them and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I watch him. He's drunk. Good. His stomach is nicely toned and his hipbones are sculpted. His body exudes sex. I'm becoming intoxicated with the site of him…or is that the wine? He lays me flat and undoes my shirt like he undid his. Only he's kissing where all the buttons were. His breath is warm and the room is cold. It's driving me crazy. I'm only in my underwear. He has nothing on. I lift my hand to his shoulders and lean up. His lips are on mine within seconds. I claim his mouth as mine. I want to ravage him. After all that's what I'm here for. No games. Only sex. My bra is ripped off. His mouth is on me again only this time it's heated with need. My panties are slipped off and thrown as he settles his weight on me.

I'm now quietly searching for my shirt. My head hurts. I'm leaving without giving him my number…it would be inappropriate if I did anyway so I just let myself out. Love is an excuse to be hurt and to hurt. Fuck that.

A.N.: the song "Lover I Don't Have to Love" by Bright Eyes inspired this story. Check it out. It Rocks. Hope you dug it.