Just as a warning, this is somewhat sexual.

I was in need.

“Evan, you awake?” I peer through the open door into the dark room. I could make out his body on the bed. He didn’t move. I slip into the room, shutting the door behind me. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. “Evan?” My voice sounds just a little too desperate.

“It’s fucking late Carmen,” he mutters. I wince.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I walk over to his bed and kneel down on the floor, leaning my head on the bed. I feel him run his hand through my hair. “Please,” I whisper even though I must have promised myself a hundred times I wouldn’t beg.

“What happened this time? Someone finally realize you’re a bitch? Did your little boyfriend forget about you? Or are you feeling…. sad?” I feel my breath hitch, my eyes burning. That fucking asshole. What the hell does he know? What right does he… my hands automatically clench into fists.

“Aww, are you going to hit me Carmen, you want to hurt me?” He’s sitting up now, his eyes teasing me. I want to hurt him. I want to make him my own personal punching bag. But I can’t do it. I shouldn’t hurt people. I try so hard to be a nice person. I try so fucking hard but it never works. I gently let my hands fall weakly by my sides. “Would you look at that?” He was having too much fun mocking me. “Carman was actually able to stop herself. Imagine that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He sighs. “C’mon, get up.” He pulls me up onto the bed next to him. His hand automatically goes around my waist, pulling me in close. “You’re such a wimp,” he whispers as if he were telling me some kind of sweet nothing. “You can’t even stand up to yourself. Get a grip on reality, would you? You can’t keep falling apart. I’m not always going to be here to put you back together.”

Put me back together, my ass. As if I need his help.

He pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. He brings his lips down onto my collarbone, slowly making his way up my neck. His kisses start soft and gentle and then become rough and demanding. He kisses my lips, forcing his tongue into my mouth.

God, I’d be a wreck without him. I’d be cold on the bathroom floor.

Panic loves me.

I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so fucking ugly. I’m so fucking lazy. And suddenly I’m unable to look into the mirror. I can’t talk to anyone. I strike out with anger. I need to cry.

“Calm down, you can’t cry and kiss me at the same time.” He reminds me as I try not to hyperventilate.

“Fucking. Pompous. Asshole.” I say in between gasps of air. I can hear him smirk.

“Me?” I can feel him fumbling with my pants, undoing the drawstring to my pajama pants. I reach at his waist to rid him of his boxers only to find they’re already gone. “One out of three isn’t that bad,” he whispers into my ear.

I close my eyes and let myself feel his naked skin touching mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, never wanting to let go. I need touch. I need closeness. Then I won’t be alone.

“Help me forget,” I whimper. He doesn’t hear me; too busy panting, sweat covering his bare body.

Reality is much too painful. There is nothing like having your brains fucked out to cure that.

I scream into oblivion.

Thank you for reading.

Comments welcome.