She slept with him again. She told herself she wouldn’t, but just like the last three times, she still did. At least she got her watch back. Now she knew that if she did see him again, it would be strictly because she wanted to. Because she wanted to feel him inside of her. Because she wanted to feel something. Anything. Because she wanted some company. Because she wanted to torture herself.
They made out in the elevator before the door closed. They were all over each other on the way up. The front door barely even closed before a purse hit the ground, and a scarf was tossed over there. somewhere. Soon, a shirt was unbuttoned, pants were ripped off, and a pair of panties were off so fast she had to wonder if she was even wearing any to begin with. It was nothing less than the usual. Shit, maybe even more. More squeezing, more rubbing. More moaning, more groaning. More of less than she knew she deserved.
But it wasn’t until an hour or two later … somewhere after 3:30am, but before 4 … that they finally slept together.
He put his arm around her as they laid in bed, and she pretended to fall asleep. She could feel his hand gently stroking her hair, and then finally he kissed the top of her head. She hated to love that. And even though it didn’t mean anything to her, because she knew it meant nothing to him – she pretended it did. For those six seconds, she pretended that he cared. And every night was the same as the one they just had, only better. Then, she pretended to not care that he didn’t care.
They always say you hurt the ones that love you the most, so it’s no wonder she continued to punish herself the way she did. Continuously sleeping with the enemy, and waking up in the morning to find herself in bed alone.