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With just one taste… I’m an addict, and I’ll want him again and again until there is nothing left of him.
And that’s why I can never see him again.
5
OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK
Girls Talk Boys by 5 Seconds of Summer
Looking at the clock next to the bed, I realize it’s almost two a.m.
Time has slipped by, and I don't remember when I fell asleep.
Gently untangling myself from the sheets, I slip out from under his arm that’s stretched across my stomach. A soft moan escapes his lips, but his eyes remain closed, and I can still hear his steady breathing. His thick, dark hair is tousled against the pillow with pieces falling over his face, soft eyes, and lush lips. The sheets are pooled at his waist, and I stare at his chest, my eyes wandering down to the flat of his stomach, and I wet my lips at the sight.
Resting my feet against the floor, I sit for a moment, running my fingers through my hair. My whole body aches having used muscles that even yoga didn’t prepare me for, but in a good way. Smiling, I stuff my face in the palm of my hands, shaking my head just to get my bearings and my mind wanders.
While the first time was rushed and exciting, the second time he fucked me slow, taking his time to touch and taste every part of my body. The rush was gone, but the ache remained. Thinking about how his skin felt under my touch as I ran my hands over his smooth stomach, appreciated the hard, youthful lines of his body, tasted him, inhaled him, and rode him until we both came, taking everything he was willing to give, and I still hadn’t had enough of him.
Feeling as though I’ve been living inside this fairytale for far too long, I know it’s time for me to leave.
The room is still bathed in darkness, but streams of moonlight filter in through the bedroom window giving me patches of visibility to find my clothes.
My foot brushes against an article of clothing and I reach down to find my shorts. Sliding onto all fours to search for my underwear, I lift the sheet so I can see under the bed when I spot the outline of a skateboard.
A fucking skateboard. I slap my hand over my mouth to stop from laughing.
Unable to find my underwear, I resolve to slip my shorts on without them, remembering my shirt and bra are still in the kitchen, along with my shoes.
Shirtless and barefoot, I silently walk down the hallway and into the living room, taking a moment to look around his apartment one more time. Above the fireplace is a framed poster, and on the mantel are what look like family pictures, but it’s too dark to make them out. The patio blinds that look out over the now darkened pool are still open, and the outside lights of nearby apartments illuminate the deserted walkway. Everything is still and serene, the storm having passed long ago. Seeing my reflection in the patio door glass, bare breasts and hair tousled, I wonder,who is this woman?
Feeling like a thief in the night, I pad into the kitchen to retrieve the rest of my clothes, remembering the way he lifted me onto the counter with ease, settled his hips between my legs, and kissed me with as much passion as he sang with on stage. Even after everything we did, and now that my mind isn’t clouded, I realize he’s still a stranger to me.
Peering down the dark hall that leads to his bedroom, I listen for any sounds that let me know he’s woken up, and hearing nothing but silence. There’s no need for awkward goodbyes, exchanging of false information, and promises that will only be broken.
Quickly finding my shirt, I slip it over my head, not bothering to put my bra on. Instead, I stuff it in the pocket of my shorts and grab my shoes. I collect my purse that I’d left on the table under the poster in the hallway, and set the strap over my shoulder.
Taking one last look around the apartment before slipping silently out the front door, I’m careful to close it quietly. Feeling bad that I can’t lock it because I don’t want to leave him vulnerable, I stand there at a loss, but there’s nothing I can do about it. On the stairs I take a moment to sit down and slip my shoes on. The rain has long since passed, the sidewalk’s dry, and the night air has been left warm and humid. A cat runs down the steps, startling me, and slips into a patch of bushes; reminding me how desolate the apartment complex is as I look around.
My limbs feel like Jell-O, and muscles I didn’t know I had ache with exertion. As I walk down the steps, I am well aware that I don’t have panties on as the friction rubs against my sore and sensitive areas.
Everything is quiet except for the faint sound of a car passing on the nearby road, and air conditioners kicking on – even in the middle of the night. Passing between the apartment buildings I make it out to the street, fully aware that I’m not wearing a bra, and wished I’d taken the extra few minutes to put it on. Hugging myself, I push on towards Mill Avenue. Every restaurant, bar, and store I pass is dark, closed for the night. Even the once livelyTap Roomis ominously silent, only a few drunken stragglers on the sidewalk across the street remain.
My car is parked a couple blocks over, and when the group of people turn the corner and I can no longer hear them, fear settles into my belly. Feeling a lump of tears rise to my throat, I swallow them down.
All thoughts of leaving my car several blocks away were tampered down in a lust filled haze when I decided to leave the bar and go home with a stranger. I’m smarter than this, and I don’t know what possessed me to go home with him.
But that’s a lie.
I do know what possessed me.
Him.
He could have been a murderer, a serial killer, someone who likes to hurt women.
But he wasn’t any of those things.
He was gentle until I asked him not to be, and even then, he had to ask me twice, to tell him exactly what I wanted. He didn’t say much, but only because I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want his name to accidentally slip past his lips.
