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Not that we were ever close to have that connection.
This was just sex.
A lie I tell myself a thousand times and it still doesn’t sink in.
No, fuck this distance.
The feeling is like an itch under a cast, right there on the surface but impossible to scratch.
I’m uncomfortable. Antsy.
Not at all what I’m used to, and all thanks to another human being.
Where the hell is my cynicism now?
How the mighty have fallen.
I can’t actually be interested in keeping this madness going... can I?
And for me to be interestedfirst? Before she breaks down in tears, begging me to stay?
Goddamn, that’s infuriating.
I’m losing my touch.
No wonder she can turn herself off like a switch. It must be tough, being physically attracted to someone you’re not emotionally interested in.
After all, we don’t have much in common besides philanthropy and an appreciation for nature.
That’s not enough to make a young girl like her fall for a mature bonehead like me. I’m twice her age, for fuck’s sake.
I’m not down with the easy, casual sex young people in her generation enjoy, either.
Just look at my possessiveness when she said she’d never been with a guy when Molly was around.
The jealous way I wanted her to look at me.
I craved a connection, and she didn’t.
Simple as.
I tried like hell to keep it casual, but clearly I missed the mark.
Becauseclearlythis means more to me than it does to her.
She’s from the same world of money that gets old fast, where life is materialistic and heavily performative in the public eye.
I can’t stand it.
Privacy is everything, and she doesn’t get that.
I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to shut the world out.
She’s spent hers putting herself front and center for a cause.
Sure, she has her secrets, but that won’t be true forever.
When she gets with a guy—the lucky future dickhead who’s meant to stick around, and I hate him already—he’ll just pop up in her pictures and videos with the same natural ease as her husky.
