Merry Christmas to everyone! And to those who don't celebrate happy Tuesday lol
Warning: M RATING
Chapter Four: End Of Me—Day 18
"This isn't my fault,"
"Mm-hm,"
"This isn't my fault." she repeats almost growling her words back at me.
"I said mm-hm,"
"Right, cause Lord forbid the Almighty Lauren Lewis ever use actual words to someone she deemed less worthy," My eyes narrow zeroing in on the back of her head, I swear if I had a rock I would throw it. I really would.
"Fine you want words Bo, THIS IS YOUR fault. If you would have just listened to me in the first place we wouldn't have taken a turn into no where and second if you would have kept your eyes on the road this wouldn't have happened either."
"What road? Do you see a road?" she holds her arms out looking up into the night's sky. "Because all I see are trees and dirt and rocks,"
"What do you think the multi-mile, horizontal stretch of rocks in between two sides of the forest are?"
"Oh shut up! Just shut up!"
"Anything I can do to please you Bo,"
"Arrg!" she yells out waving her arms from her sides and shakes her head, if I wasn't so pissed I would laugh.
I find it amazing that as soon as things weren't exactly on her terms that calm, proper woman Dyson had spent sixteen years shaping flew right out the window. Hm, interesting to say the least. I wasn't even being difficult this really was her fault. She refused to listen to me trying to prove she knew better than I did which caused her to miss our turn on an actual paved street in the city, and now we were stuck in the middle of nowhere and all I can think about is some giant man running out from the trees wheedling a chainsaw or an ax—or a machete-damn kids. No more horror movies for them.
Oh and second when her calm facade began crumbling upon realizing she made a mistake instead of just admitting it she kept driving, and driving and driving and blaming me and then BAM right into a tree. Bye-bye Mr. Car, bye-bye cell phones, bye-bye civilization-hello hell.
I managed to make it exactly 17 days before I had to be alone with her, 17 days until I was forced to have a conversation with her. 17 days I managed to continue living my life in spite her and her 'family's' vapid presence. 17 days I made it-God why couldn't it have been longer-like forever?
All the way up until today I loved Cunningham Institute, I even made peace with looking over all of the findings of Dyson's slash Kate's slash Bo's case. Even loved seeing the look on that smug bastard's face when I marched right up to his desk and gave him the report without so much as batting an eyelash. But today, today was the day they turned against me. They refused to allow me to send an assistant out with them—excuse me her. No I couldn't go with my girlfriend or even the jackass since they were 'partners' I had to go with the unaligned succubus who apparently isn't even unaligned anymore.
Serves her right-although we now technically play for the same team but oh well.
"Do you have reception yet?"
"Yes Bo as a matter a fact I do, I am just choosing not to use it since I am loving this quality time with you so much."
"You've grown bitter in your old age," she falls silent and my lips part to speak. "I meant to say bitterer,"
"Bitterer?"
"Yes bitterer, it's a word."
"I didn't say anything,"
"Didn't have too, your judgmental tone said it all."
"That is my tone of voice,"
"Ethan and Isa must love that,"
"Don't mention my children,"
"What does Isa stand for anyway?" she asks and my heart drops. Now, now of all times she finally decides to ask a logical question? Well I guess she was due it's been a decade and a half.
"Mind your own business,"
"I am just showing an interest, trying to be polite."
"Well don't,"
"Don't be polite or don't show an interest?"
"Just don't do anything other than walking,"
"So is their father alive still or," she trails off after several minutes of silence.
"Mind your business,"
"Do I know him?" her tone softens and I can swear I pick up on a faint hint of pain emerging. "I wasn't even aware you enjoyed men that way,"
"There are a lot of things about me that you aren't aware of,"
"Can't do it can you,"
"Do what?"
"Have a normal conversation."
"This coming from the woman who couldn't string together a sentence without trying to get me to undress,"
"That was then," she snorts shaking her head again.
I think this is hilarious, she is actually standing there having the nerve to make remarks as to my conversational skills. I am the one who always wanted to talk. I am the one who knew—knows every little detail about her while she can barely tell me my birthday. She is actually pretending to be the party who was the one left—well she kind of was in a way, but you know what, it was her choice to never come back. It was her choice to never once try and contact me. It was her choice to wait what, one night before jumping into bed with Dyson.
God I have to let this go.
You know what, I don't. I don't have to let this go, I have every right to remain angry at her especially when she is over here asking questions about my kids—our kids.
"Oh thank God," I look up to see what has her all excited and I feel a strange sense of disappointment as we approach the street. "And of course," she growls fixing her arm readying to throw her phone but instead just shoves it back into her jacket pocket. "Is yours working?"
"No,"
"Just freaking perfect."
"Relax cujo, we'll just grab a taxi and be fine."
"Sure, why not."
"Oh is that taxing to you? Having to sit beside me for twenty minutes,"
"As a matter a fact yeah, it is." she spins around nostrils flaring as her jaw clenches and I can't believe not only how quickly but how much her 'new and improved' personality was gone. She was right back to being the girl who turned around saying 'it is just a break right,' a question I never answered.
I suppose life answered it for us.
"Fine, I will take the cab and you can walk and maybe your little chihuahua will be able to sense you're in danger and he will come running to rescue you."
"You make a lotta remarks about wolfs for someone dating one," she smirks a smirk that basically says 'yeah I know about that'. "Think you're projecting issues of your lover onto mine,"
"Lover?" I snort and try to suppress my laugh.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just never heard you use that word before,"
"It's been sixteen years Lauren, there is a lot of things you've never heard me say." What do you know, she actually knows how long it's been. "Lot of things you don't know about me anymore,"
"Bo there were a lot of things I didn't know about you then,"
"Least you can admit that,"
"Excuse me," my attention snaps to her, my feet coming to a halt.
"I just wasn't aware you could admit a fault of yours,"
"This coming from you?" I almost choke on my laugh.
"I am well aware of my flaws,"
"Really? Are talking about flaws you yourself realized or flaws that Mr. Thornwood pointed out?"
"Will you stop that,"
"What? It's his name isn't it, your soon to be name."
"I'm not going to survive this," she mumbles to herself under her breath as her pace quickens, "So how did you brake the news of Fae to them?"
"Who?" I ask not completely focused on reality as we had slipped into a silence for a half of mile.
"Bonnie and Clyde—your children."
"They are Fae," I answer before my brain has time to catch up with my mouth. Oh well, if she didn't do the math this wasn't going to spill the beans.
"They are?" she comes to another halt forcing me to do the same.
"Yes, why? Are you the only one allowed to have Fae children?"
"No, of course not I just find it peculiar," peculiar? When did she bother to learn words above a fifth grade education. "Hale and Kenzi had a child when she was still human and Gabby is human."
"Your point?"
"My point is I thought IF a human and a Fae mated it would result in a human child."
Of course this is the random fact she would know, can't put sixteen years into context but mention something pertaining to her precious Kenzi and she turns into Rain Man.
"Most times that would be correct,"
"Most times?"
"There is a gene, HAFG it is in about point two percent of the human female population. You have the gene and it is possible to have a Fae born child, if your partner is Fae obviously."
"HAFG?"
"Humanistic Acceptability to Fae Genetics."
"Well you always had to be the best of everything,"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"What did it sound like, I am speaking English aren't I?"
"I meant pertaining to this context,"
"Means that point four percent of women have this gene, so that is what a few thousand? Seems like something that would be considered elite. You always strive to be elite thus the comment,"
"So it is bad to strive to achieve?"
"No of course not, just sometimes when you strive so much you lose somethings along the way. Sometimes when you strive so much you forget that people have feelings," your subtlety sucks still to this day. "Take in point your children, and I mean this as no disrespect I think they are amazing granted I only met them once but still-it just seems like they could benefit from a little less striving for greatness."
"Excuse me? Are YOU questioning my parenting skills?" this time it's my knees that lock and this brings her to a stop as well, turning around to face me.
"No, I am just saying they don't give me the impression that they have a lot of fun outside of academics,"
"How would YOU know what is fun for them? How would YOU know what they enjoy?" I take five steps toward her, my own nostrils flaring. "Were you around to raise them? Did you watch them grow up? Did you go through growing pains with them? No I don't think you did Bo. I did, I was there."
"Okay." she looks at me with this level of inquisitiveness, it resembles the look a dog gets when they hear their treat jar being opened. She knows there is something going on, I can feel it but she just doesn't know how to piece it all together. Good. "I wasn't implying you were a bad parent Lauren, I was just implying that in YOUR striving to be the best of the best you left some damage in your path—perhaps if you just told them that there was more than striving to be the best it might save them some pain and those who fall in love with them,"
"Thanks, I will be sure to add that right into my parenting book as soon as possible."
"What happened to you?' she asks with this disgust written over her face and it hurts more than I'd like to admit.
"You," I answer flatly. A small, sick twinge of joy settling in my stomach as I see her own pain begin to creep into her features.
Her lips part as her fist clench and I'm ready for whatever verbal attack she is about to unleash but the first good thing of the day happens. A cab quickly approaching us and since neither of us were wanting to walk the thirty miles back into the mere vicinity of our homes we begin waving out hands, yelling for him to stop.
He pulls to a halt and she walks around to the other side as I slip in, just as well I wasn't going to slide over for her anyway. There was maybe a foot in between us without trying but both me and her sit as close to our doors as possible, the faint worry that my door was going to pop open under my weight starting to bug me.
The grungy, thirty-something year old tried to make conversation on a few occasions, tried a few comments but it didn't take long to realize this wasn't the crowd for that.
It took us thirty minutes or so to reach the actual city and that was first time I looked over at Bo. She was angry, enraged actually but yet she was managing to keep her mouth shut and I couldn't help the odd feeling of pride for her. She had finally matured enough to know when was appropriate to throw a fit. The lights of the street dance over her features, and my eyes dance over what I can see of her face before focusing on her reflection in the glass. I could swear I saw a tear slip down her cheek but then again my mind has been known to play ticks on me.
Staring at her I can't help but see my children, I can't help but see my daughter's face when she looks up from her homework to greet me. I can't help but see my son's face when he smiles at me just to make me smile. Looking at her I can't help but wonder...
…..wonder if I was wrong to keep them from her...
"I don't have my wallet and my phone is dead," I nod more as a way to clear my thoughts than to acknowledge I understand what she is saying. "May I come in and call someone to get me or-"
My eyes narrow trying to place her words and then I realize we've pulled to a stop. Looking over my shoulder I see my front door and her words come into context.
Don't do it Lauren.
"Sure, why not." I sigh and tell the driver my city code, it was nice working for the C.I. I never needed to carry around money or a credit card because all I needed was a pin and they would be billed, feeling generous I give him the equivalent of a fifteen dollar tip and Bo gives me this look that I simply turn my back to. No reason everyone had to have a bad day-besides I wasn't paying for it.
I walk hesitantly up the seven steps to my door and once again hesitate before opening it, the feeling of her looming presence growing with every step. We're greeted by a welcoming darkness and as my muscle memory takes control I kick my shoes off as I slip from my jacket tossing it onto the back of the couch all before dropping my keys down on the long desk against the wall where they belonged.
"I didn't think you would allow them to be out so late on a school day,"
"They are with their class, they had a science tournament tonight."
"I'm sorry," she says softly, a genuineness in her voice that tugs at my heart.
"It's okay, they have plenty of these. I'll make it up." I take a deep breath as I pull the thin cordless from it's holder and turn handing it too her. She reaches out for it and just by accident her hand grazes mine as she pulls it from my grip, the memory of our first meeting drifting back dragging all of those emotions along with it.
"Th-thank you," she lets out as she looks down at the phone, her thumb pressing the talk button causing a little green light to illuminate the area around us. She presses three numbers before her thumb glides back over to the end button and I just watch her curiously, maybe she forgot the number after all it's only been three weeks and her memory wasn't great. Maybe she doesn't know who to call. Maybe she has something to ask me.
I part my lips readying to say something natural, something calm and un-antagonistic but the words never leave my lips nor do they ever form as I watch her with a curious confusion as she tosses the phone onto the couch while taking three giant steps toward me.
Her hands grab my face holding me in place as her lips slam against mine with a force that earns a whimper from me. Reacting on instinct, on muscle memory my hands fly up into her hair holding her just as tight, our bodies melting together. Moaning against against her lips, an old but still valid password as the second it reaches her ears her lips part allowing my tongue to slip into her mouth effortlessly. Her own tongue aggressively welcoming, skillful as ever. Pressing against her harder, further giving into the kiss our grips loosen allowing our movements to become more natural, our heads twisting side to side and then back again. Every stroke of my tongue met with an equally feverish onslaught of her own.
Every emotion from the this horrendous night, of the past sixteen years rushing to the surface. Every, single ounce of emotion, the anguish, the fear, the loneliness—it all was racing to the surface colliding together to form this new level of desire. Forgetting everything except this moment, and in this moment I wanted this, I needed this.
Her lips part further inviting a deeper touch if possible and I give it to her with a thrust of my tongue, a lascivious growl from her being lost in my mouth as she returns the caress. Each and every escaping moan earned from either of us being lost.
"I forgot how amazing of a kisser you are," she pants out as her lips leave mine just by an inch as her forehead rests against mine, and knowing her, her eyes are closed mimicking my own. "How good you feel,"
Every word is a comfort to a part of me that I spent the past sixteen years ignoring but every word is also a step closer to reality. A reality that consisted of her being engaged and me being committed. A reality that consisted of us no longer being these people. A reality that would consider what was happening right now as blasphemous.
"You're engaged," I pant out, it was supposed to be an insult-I think though it sounds anything but.
"I know,"
"We can't do this,"
"I know," she pulls back slightly and I open my eyes to find hers staring right back into mine. "I know," she repeats softly, sorrow lacing every millimeter of her tone.
I stand there for a moment freeing my hands from her hair while just staring into her eyes, and it feels like coming home. I can't lie, not now. There is something there that still belongs to me and it's bittersweet to know that there is something there that belongs to me but know every action of hers for the past sixteen years. To know that even with that part of her still mine-it isn't enough to sway her from him.
"We can't," she says it this time to which I reply that 'I know' but words mean nothing—not now.
It was her—or myself—maybe both of us—it didn't matter who—not anymore.
Regardless of who initiated it we found ourselves right back where we had started. One kiss and then another and then another until we found ourselves a tangled mess of passion as we stumbled through the darkness of my living room. Without ever breaking apart we managed to make it up to the eighth or ninth step before we found ourselves at another halt.
Her body pressing up against mine molding itself to me with her strength as she trapped me against the wall. She didn't pull away right away but when she did instead of words, she buried her face in the curve of my neck. Frantic lips wrecking havoc on sensitive skin, pulling me that much closer to the brink of surrender.
Maybe it was the kissing or the roughness or the fact that her thigh slipped in between mine that caused a serge of need ripping through me. Reaching, searching every inch of her I could manage. Lazy, frantic, parted-lipped kisses to her jaw, her cheekbone, the curve of her neck to her collarbone. Passion quickly pulling me free of my remaining restraint, hands began exploring. Fingertips tracing the trim of her spine, running over tense muscles, running all the way up to the curve of her shoulders before tracing back down to find a home upon the tight, beginning swell of her ass.
Her own hands were quick to return the favor touching everything our position allowed her, my body twisting against her body under her touches silently reminding her of where her hands were most desired. Continuous sighs of pleasure escaping from both of us like a symphony of sopranos. Long, slender fingers probing with a purpose, over my thighs, my stomach until they finally wandered far enough up to the curve of my breasts. Cupping them with both hands, fingers rubbing over the material of my shirt against the sensitive flesh below.
Another moan rushing past my lips, a moan of frustration, of exhilaration-of need.
"Bo," I groan out and this time a sudden burst of morals come into the forefront of my mind. My hands jumping to her cheeks pushing her head back up, a soft moan of protest escaping both of us. "Bo,"
"Lauren," she pants my name the way only she can and I almost completely lose my train of thought.
"We have to-"
"Stop?"
"Yes."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you?"
"Why aren't you?" she asks with an anger, with a hurt that mirrors everything I am feeling myself. I didn't have an answer for her though—actually I had a million reasons I wasn't stopping her. Some better than others, some more petty than others.
It was a question which a response didn't need to be spoken, actually it was a response that desperately needed to be said aloud—it just never would—not again.
Lips find each other once more as we resume our journey up the stairs, down the hall bumping into one wall then the next until finally we reached my bedroom making it straight to my bed. She uses her body to guide me down onto the mattress before standing up abruptly, reluctantly she releases me and I think of trying to stop this but we both know it's pointless—we both know I don't mean it. Instead I just watch her rip her shirt and bra over her head in one swift motion.
Kneeling above me almost sitting in my lap she reaches down using the back of her hand to graze my heated cheek before it drops to the hem of my shirt. It's another one skillful and abrasive motion that she pulls my shirt and bra off, before throwing across the room as if it was on fire. Resting back against the mattress I stare up at her watching as her eyes travel down from mine across my chest and down my stomach. It was an invisible caress that my body responded to regardless.
Reaching up, trembling hands clamp onto her upper arms, pulling her down to me with an unnecessary force. Hungrily we take another taste of each others mouth but all too soon she is pulling away, her kisses moving from my lips to the gently-rounded swell of my right breast. As she unleashed her skillful mouth my fingers ran upward until finding a home in her hair assuring she wouldn't attempt to leave.
I could feel the way my body was responding to her, my back arching, hips rising up off of the bed pushing against her tight body. The feel of the pressure of her teeth on my tender flesh, followed by the flick of her tongue cause my legs to lazily wrap around her waist.
It was all so much, it wasn't supposed to be happening this way—at all. She was supposed to be getting married, I was committed—i wasn't this type of person. I cared about Kate, I really did and I was more or less prepared to spend my life with her, at least for a while longer. Problem was that I loved Bo, and in this moment I cannot even try to deny it, I can't even begin to tell myself otherwise. Problem was my body reacted to her like a glove, every touch brought me too life, every kiss woke parts of me I thought had long ago died, every sound she made drove me closer to insanity. I wanted to stop...
….But I really didn't...
Her probing fingers close on my neglected nipple and I can't help but moan her name, a sound so foreign to me now yet so familiar. Feeling as greedy as her mouth was I began pushing at the hem of her pants with my feet managing to push them off an inch or two, it was hard to tell, but still being buttoned they wouldn't slide beyond her hips. Giggling against my skin she delivered one sharp nip before lifting her head away, another giggle coming from her at my unconscious whimper of protest.
Head dipping back down, lips finding the sensitive area of skin just under the right side of my ribcage placing butterfly kisses that make me smile more than anything. It was so sexual yet so sweet, she used to do it as just away to make me smile. I wonder if she would have done it more when I was pregnant-had she been here with me.
Flicking her tongue into my belly button, then around it before tracing the edges of my pants with her chilled fingertips brings me back from my wandering. My hands clench onto her shoulders, and she kisses along the hem of my pants but it's not lustful rather it's tentative, shes kissing me—touching me as if she has missed this, missed me and I feel a wash of emotion go through me that I can't quite describe.
I want her there is no hiding that, she can see it in more ways than one, feel it, and with as low as she is she can probably smell it too but as much as I want her, want her in the most lustful way this underlining part of me wants to know she missed me—even if it is just my body she missed. I want her to pull my pants off and take her kisses lower, I want her hungry mouth on me but I also want to hold her body close, I was to kiss her and look in her eyes. I want this to be more than lust because it's more than that to me.
She looks up into my eyes and smiles so softly it's almost heartbreaking, almost as she knows my unspoken pain.
Placing another tender kiss below my ribcage she slides back up the length of my body. Her lips finding mine instantly, hungry mouth devouring mine as she slips her left hand under me stopping at the small of my back as the other lazily slides down my body to trace the curves of my thighs.
The tantalizing ghosting of her hand along my thighs was enough to earn a pleading sigh into her mouth, my back arching up once again as my hips did the same keeping a demanding rhythm, one that is soon matched by her down pushing my back down onto the mattress, her weight just enough to keep me from arching back up.
A strangled cry broke from her throat into my mouth as my hand managed to slide in between us and almost instantly her own hand joins mine in this already tiny space between our bodies. Breaking apart only an inch, eyes opening in a union as our hands rest atop one another while the sporadic rhythm of our hips slow to a halt.
"God your beautiful," I whisper out using my free hand to brush her hair from her face.
"Do you mean that professionally?" she whispers with a smirk that changes slowly into a smile to match the one taking over my lips as my cheeks begin to heat from something other than adrenaline and lack of oxygen . "It's cool, I have that effect on people."
"Ah, well that would fit my hypothesis on you,"
"Hm," she giggles out softly. Dipping her head down a little lower, the light seeping in from the street in through my blinds illuminating her face. "Do you want to ask me some incredibly personal questions now, doctor?"
"Best role play ever,"
We don't say anything, for a moment we just look at one another not moving, not breathing just letting the memories come streaming back and for the first time in years the memories aren't painful. I don't try and push them back down into a deep, dark hole but rather enjoy the fact that she remembers them just as clearly as I do.
Reacting in union our hands begin to fight for the fastenings on our jeans, and I'm not completely sure if I'm fighting with hers or my own—not that it mattered. No, now the only concern was the removal of the barriers between us. Finally able to rip them open, quite literally in my case I use my earlier technique to push her pants completely off, a thud followed by another as she manages to kick off her shoes in the process. A smile curving my lips realizing she still didn't wear underwear, some things never change. Arching my back up she pulls my jeans and underwear off in one fumbled motion.
"You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," she whispers sweetly, her breathing labored unusually. "You don't look a day older than the last time I saw you," she uses the back of her hand to brush the hair from my face making a dangerous comment something so sweet.
"I—I haven't, not really." I admit quietly unsure of why I am but something in her eyes is begging me to know. "I—I'm not human any more-not completely,"
"Wh-what?" her head tilts and a serious inquisitiveness replaces the pure lust and longing in her eyes.
"The HAFG gene I carry made me a prime candidate to splice my DNA, to incorporate Fae DNA with my own allow me to have certain-benefits," I wonder if geek speak still does it for her because that was a mouthful.
Her lips part to speak but nothing comes out, I see all the questions begin to rise in her. A sense of sadness, hurt, maybe anger riddling her features in between the lust.
"You were right, you are an amazing mother." she says flatly and I can't help the tiny whimper that escapes, not from pleasure but from—guilt? Pain? "I know how much pride you took in being a human,"
"I take more pride in being a mother,"
"I'm sorry," she says suddenly very serious and for a moment I don't know what she is apologizing for.
Was she saying sorry because she couldn't go through with this—or because she could? Was she saying sorry for stopping? Was it sorry because I had given up my human life for another? Was it a sorry of pity or of understanding? Was it a sorry because I was alone and she believed that was why I had to make such a sacrifice? Or was it a sorry for something that went further than that.
My mind shifts from the riddle of her words to her mouth that has managed to cover my own, melting into her effortlessly. It only took a moment for our bodies to synchronize into a rhythm of thrusts, of movements, of moans.
Demanding more of her body, I arch up as best I can and I know it annoys her as much as it excites her that I try and remain in control even when she is atop of me. Head pressing down against the mattress, eyes clamping shut tilting my head back as her lips left mine. Sporadic and ravenous lips move over my mouth, chin, ear, before finally focusing on my neck. The sensation sending a new shock-wave of pleasure to collide with existing ones creating a violent whirlpool in the pit of my stomach, pulling me closer to the edge.
I could tell she herself was just barely holding on. The frantic increased shared movements becoming more and more painful, more and more exhilarating—more of everything. She is pressing her lower half down on me as much as she can while still keeping in rhythm to prevent me from arching up but she doesn't realize my strength has grown since the last time we found ourselves in the position. Not much, but enough.
My fingernails claw at her back as her hands slide underneath my butt pushing me up demanding to hold control of this, demanding that if I was going to arch up it would be on her terms. I am too far gone now to care whether she is in control or not.
And when her grip tightens to the point of near unbearable pain I knew she was too. It didn't take long after that, that I found myself screaming out her name before burying my face in her shoulder biting down trying to muffle myself.
The scream of my name following close behind, Bo's mouth over my collarbone as it does. And for whatever reason she decides to muffle her own self by biting were her lips rested earning my jaw to lock. It was unintentional, it was new and most of all it was painful but there was something different now. We didn't pull apart and ask if the other was okay, we didn't pull apart and assess the damage rather we both gradually released our bite and just laid there.
Coming to awareness was slow and muddled but I think I was the first to do so. The smell of us in the air thick, sweet, memory inducing. Next was the realization that her body still laid still atop of mine, so still that it was worrisome almost as if she was afraid to move. Her face nestled into my shoulder, her chest raising and falling in sync with my own. Gently I try and shift just a little, trying to reposition my legs rather then escape but she murmurers something against my skin as her hands force themselves underneath my waist pulling me against her.
I fall still and just lay here staring up into the darkness of the ceiling letting this conscious wave of emotions come over me, my now calming desire falling to the lesser of my worries. Guilt, pain, disgust, embarrassment, hurt, longing, uncertainty, love, need, all swirling around my mind like waster circling the drain.
I loved her-I hated her. I needed her-I didn't want her. I wanted her possession of me yet I wanted to be free. I wanted her forever yet I couldn't stand the thought. I wanted to comfort her as much as I wanted to hurt her. I desired her as much as I was disgusted by her. I regretted everything about her just as much as I would do it all again in an instant. I wanted to 'play-house' with her just as much as I wanted her to disappear from our life.
I smirk to myself, that is what I really was—just water circling the drain. Someone laying in a glass coffin watching as shovels of dirt were being tossed atop of me. Every decision being made just another lap around the drain, another shovelful of dirt.
