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A young woman woke up, in a daze. She could remember all of what happened the previous night like someone was playing a movie in her brain.
Though, now, her hair was a disheveled mess and her clothes were torn and scattered on the floor, in a line toward the bed. It was a night of absolute bliss, no doubt about that in her mind. Yet the morning after, the bliss always fades, and she was left dreadfully, dreadfully aware.
The thing was, the woman always woke up alone.
It stopped bothering her a long time ago. He loved her, he said, but it was not enough as to show their 'love' to everyone else. To his friends. To the others in the meetings. To anyone who asked if he was in a relationship. He wasn't ready to leave people wondering where he was in the mornings when he should be at the meetings.
"Te amo, amor." Those words would float in and out of his perfect mouth during the nights they shared, and when he saw her for dinner when nobody noticed he would be gone.
She had nearly stopped caring by now. Now it was just a routine. It didn't matter anymore, she was already thinking they ought call it off.
This, this empty bed, only strengthened her want to break up. If it even qualified as a break up. Sighing, the (h/c) haired woman pulled the sheets around her, willing her wobbly knees to get off of the damned bed. Pulchritudinous
That was when the paper fluttered to the ground. Her (e/c) irises grew wide with shock.
A...a lo...love note?
She quickly dismissed it the naive thought. He probably left her instructions for their next meeting, not a love note, as she always hoped. It would never happen, today was no different.
Her lips, still swollen, turned down in a slight frown as she, almost hesitantly, picked up the note. (e/c) eyes gazed onto the note, and as they did, tears welled up threatening to break the bridge and overflow to her cheeks.
Mi quierda,
It read,
I want to see you again. This time though, we'll go out, you and me. I'll take you out in front of everyone, not as a friend, as mio.
Te lo prometo.
-Antonio
(y/n) crumpled up the note in her hands, and held it to her chest as the tears began to fall. She halfheartedly rubbed at her eyes to stop the tears. Clutching, the note until it was almost torn, she sobbed as loud as her heart throbbed.
"D-d-damn it! Damn yo-you Antonio-!" She cried in a raspy voice. That was all she could say, her bawling cutting her off half way as she heaved in quick, shallow breaths.
Damn you...and your tan skin...your fucking way with words...yo-your mumblings when you're half asleep...Fuck you Antonio...I was almost over you, you bastard...She thought, somehow through all the emotions clouding her brain up.
She pulled her knees up to her bare chest, sheets dropping to the ground, forgotten.
No matter how many tears fell, she felt so, so unrealistically relived.
This made her upset, she had been so close to beating herself and prove that she didn't need anyone and be happy on her own. And, still, she was so, happy, so motherfucking ecstatic.
Antonio gave her an answer, finally, he finally proved it. He wrote it on a cheap napkin with a pen that was probably worth less than one penny, but she got her answer, and that was all that mattered.
Antonio really did love her.
And she fucking loved him too.
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Ok pretty sappy, but here is the truth. I'm pretty into Spain from Hetalia at the moment. Sooo, yeah, angst seemed to call to me today.
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