If you don’t care to love me, then why am I here? These are the deep seated thoughts that entangle my insides, as he reaches out to grab onto me, hence more. With smoke billowing out towards the moonlight, I purse my lips and take ahold onto the last cigarette butt within my reach. He wants me I know this, but I could care less at this moment for him. Why must I give into his forceful nature, and be who he wants me to be? His boyish good looks, have found my insides, and they are aching for his touch, but instead I deprive myself, I ignore the obvious, stand up, and walk away into the darkness leaving him behind.
The drive home was a long one, only the sounds of hearts breaking playing on the radio. The moon was bright tonight, and it was comforting to know that it was there, for it helped lead the way as the smell of him on my neck lingered in the midnight cool air. It is late September now, and the seasons are beginning to change, the leaves are beginning to transform themselves into a picture perfect façade of oranges and yellows.
I am quickly pulled away from the moments inside my head, as a small female deer lifts her white tail as a warning to the others that danger is near. Not just one deer, but three now are on the edge of the road, glaring into my headlights as I approach with caution. Then as soon as they appeared, they are no more, as they disappear into the thickness of the tall grasses on the side of the road. I sigh in relief, take another drag off my cigarette, and begin the drive home once more.
My phone is silent, and shaking my head, I realize that what we shared was nothing. Perhaps that will be the last of him, and as part of me sighs in relief another part of me feels the shame setting in. Why must I always feel so damn guilty for taking care of my needs? Men do the act all the time and I’ve never seen them hang their head low afterwards so why must I be any different?
I reach the house, and it seems eerie now with the lights out. The gravel on the driveway is the only sound underneath my feet. I manage to peel the flannel shirt that is dangling off my shoulders and let it hit the floor beside my bed. The bed is comforting, yet bigger now, as I lay their alone. Tears well up inside my usual dry eyes, and trickle like a slow river down my cheek. I am all I need, or so it is that I tell myself, as I quietly drift off to sleep.
The End-or is it?
This is my first attempt at writing fictional romance. What’s your thoughts about it? Anybody? Would you be interested in reading more?
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