So. You’ve been caught. You knew it was going to come to this. Eventually. It’s not how you imagined it would be, is it? Why isn’t she saying anything? Where is all the screaming? The rapid firing of profanities? The dodging of any object in close proximity of her grasp? You’re confused, yet you don’t risk letting it show. Do you hear your heart beating faster and faster? Can she hear it? Is this her way of punishing you? Is it working? Yes. In fact, you feel something you have never felt before, something so unfamiliar it scares you. Do you feel that grip on your neck? The pressure on your throat? The bruising throbbing at your wrists? That, my friend, is remorse. You don’t even know why you did it in the first place. Probably to prove a point. To prove that every female is expendable. But you’re wrong, aren’t you? As cliché as it sounds, she isn’t dispensable. Admittedly, your initial thoughts of her upon the first encounter at a proverbial friend-of-a-friend’s dinner party were flagrantly indecent. Admittedly, you had to nod to your mate as he observed her appearance with an “As if you wouldn’t”. Admittedly, your desire was quickly forgotten once she proceeded to wax lyrical to her friend about the new patisserie she had chanced upon on the way home from work. You had, in actual fact, been to said patisserie and after deciding it was the best form of physical pleasure this side of sex, you had become an ardent aficionado. The fact that you didn’t fuck her senseless that first night should have been a sign that she was different. She didn’t incessantly whine about inconsequential things, like how badly she wanted the dress that her best friend’s brother’s neighbour’s sister in-law was wearing. She didn’t constantly ask “What’s wrong?” when there was nothing wrong. Which of course, would trigger an argument about how you “never talk to me anymore”. She did, however, teach you how to make banana pancakes with the easiest caramel sauce in the world. The night you broke your arm, she changed your flat tyre. In heels. Her apartment is a mess, yet she religiously keeps her books in alphabetical order. And. She yells louder than you when the Swans miss a goal (again). Oh sure, this girl is absolutely substitutable. A dime a dozen, isn’t that what they say?
Still silent, she slowly starts approaching you. Out of habit, you retreat backwards in a vain effort to place as much distance between your body and the hairdryer that will inevitable fly at you. And yet. She has not reached for anything. Still advancing towards you until you feel the bed at back of your legs. Still, not a word. Her expression is unreadable, which you find disconcerting. You had felt ridiculously proud when she confessed that you were the only person who could read her like you do. She pushes you onto the bed, straddling you in the process. Pushing her hair over one shoulder, she leans down and touches her lips to yours. So soft, you wouldn’t have known she had kissed you if you eyes had not been open. Her light, feathery kisses are reminiscent of those she had given you that day you had professed that you were serious about her, that you couldn’t disregard her feelings like you had the others; that you couldn’t be unfaithful to her. Her body looms above yours, yet she doesn’t touch you anywhere else. Still, not a word. You begin to kiss her more insistently, pushing through the barrier she has created. Your hand finds its way to the nape of her neck, as it always does; and she responds fiercely, as she always does. You don’t know what it is about her, but her response to you is like no other. You relish every fervent touch and every unintelligible whisper. She gives herself freely to you and you greedily accept. You have never met anyone as generous as she, and are painfully reminded of the dire mistake you had made. The thought promptly leaves your mind as your bodies meet. She is your home and you make a silent pledge to her. Never going to let you go. Never, never, never. The culmination is explosive and you hold her closely to you, refusing to allow any space between you. Still, not a word. You wait until her laboured breathing slows, the promise of love on the tip of your tongue. She gently pushes herself up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She could have screamed the most offensive of obscenities; you could have taken the histrionics. She could have said anything and everything. Anything; any word, except for the one you didn’t want to hear.
Goodbye.
Copyright © 2008 madamegeek
