Rick
I was tracing patterns on your back; hearts and circle. I was connecting moles and freckles, finding familiar shapes on your familiar skin.
This was the second time this week you found yourself here.
The taste in my mouth was a mix of your cheap merlot and my even cheaper IPA, my body heat seeped away from me as you stole it, like you stole the blankets from my side, as you took over my whole bed. The same way you had taken over my whole life.
You mumbled his name in your alcohol-induced slumber. I tried to imagine you were calling out my name as I leaned in to you, half-aroused from your earlier actions before you turned over and passed out, but I couldn't. His name stuck to your tongue then rolled off, the first syllable setting off your gag reflex, like your first time taking him in your mouth. At least that's what you said years ago, causing me anxiety in how I would ever compare. The last half of his name purred out of your mouth. Whenever you said my name, it was sharp and short. A pick in ice, the clang of a spoon hitting the floor. Always cacophonic.
You still dreamt about him, after all these years, and all the letters he sent you to make you hold out hope, and hang on. Did you really love him? Do you still? Could you ever love me? What did he have that I could never understand?
I could love you and love you and love you. I have given you everything. He has given you nothing, and you still call his name out in the night, in another man's bed.
A fresh pack of cigarette sat on my bedside table. Turned away from you to reach for them. I was afraid the crinkling of the cellophane would wake you up, but you just breathed in deeply as dream of him flitted through your mind, behind your green eyes.
I lit the cigarette and took a drag to try and calm myself down, but just finding my hand down my boxers, wondering how my life turned in to this.
A/N: I'm back I think. It's been over a year, and these chapters may not be worth the wait. I was really stuck on this story while I worked on the real-life situations that inspired this. Now that I've reflected, I can continue this story, however short the chapters may be (the downside of multiple POV, I'm not George Martin!)