Okay, I know that this story isn't the one I should put a second part to, but I really can't resist.
It started with...
Well, it wasn't supposed to start.
It wasn't supposed to start with broken hearts, rowdy clubs, and endless glasses of alcoholic beverages.
It wasn't supposed to start with two available seats (conveniently) right next to each other, hi's and hello's, and brutal honesty.
It wasn't supposed to start with eyeing, then arguing, then flirting, then talking, then really talking, then silence, then more eyeing, then kissing, then really kissing.
And it really wasn't supposed to start with a night of tangled limbs, soft gasps, loud moans, and his name bouncing off the walls.
It wasn't supposed to start with a night that meant something.
(The only night it meant something.)
It continued with...
and it really wasn't supposed to continue.
It wasn't supposed to continue with her pulling him to secluded corners without any consideration on how hard or rough the wall behind him was as she pushes him against it, or how she's sure (and he's sure) that he's just a replacement.
It wasn't supposed to continue with midnight rendezvous that really meant nothing but comfort for her (and he's sure that it would never mean anything more).
And he wasn't supposed to be her own, personal stress ball.
He wasn't supposed to fall in love...
(Because it's sick and wrong to find love in their sea of tangled limbs, sharp toys, and tortured pleasure.)
His heart isn't supposed to beat faster at the sight of her saying another man's name as he fucks (they really couldn't call it anything else) her.
And she wasn't supposed to make him want to kiss her and kill her at the same time, and the thought of jumping off a building to end his pain (and pleasure and misery and excitement) shouldn't be lingering at the back of his mind.
(But he does feel like that... and he thinks: maybe he is sick and wrong.)
When it ended...
Because it really needed to end.
It wasn't a painful, heartbreaking, tear-jerking goodbye.
It wasn't a slap in the face or a walk out the door.
It was nothing.
(He still feels what true heartbreak is.)
But he knows that it won't be the last time he'll get abused and bruised in the most comfortable (300 thread-count Egyptian cotton-sheet) bed he's ever (not) slept in, and he knows that it won't be the last time her cold lips would ever attack his warm ones.
Because the world will always have a thing for breaking her heart.
(And in the end, they'll never really end.)
Thank you for reading, please review. (and yes... I am going back to my "no-names" stories.)
If you want a happier version of this, please tell me. (well somebody sure did.)
But if you find it dragging for me to put in a third part... tell me also.