|Everything I Hate
Author: Maroon PM
Flashes of before turn my mind. The deep fulfilling thrusts. The crushingly brutal kisses. The swollen lips. Feeling on fire. Feeling so many emotions at once. Just feeling... [one shot]Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - Words: 774 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 4 - Published: 04-27-06 - id: 2162594
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I confess I don't really know what this is. I toyed with several ideas about the silent person in this peice. Its just a short thing that i just wrote. I hope that the style ( short sentences etc) isnt too grating. Anyway read and let me know what you think.
Everything I hate.
I stare out the window; life seems to have fled me. Flashes of before turn my mind. The deep fulfilling thrusts. The crushingly brutal kisses. The swollen lips. Feeling on fire. Feeling so many emotions at once. Just feeling.
Gently my finger brushes my lips, outside a bird flutters past. The tender kisses. Butterfly kisses in abundance along my jaw. Sweet caresses, smooth skin, intense looks. I smile sadly and that tear tumbles down my cheek.
Screwing my eyes tight should shut it all out. Opening my eyes should present a fresh clean slate, memories forgotten.
That sofa there, that's where we fell drunkenly once. Wrapped up in each other the alcohol barely spurring the already hot desire melting inside us. The sex it was deliberately slow, hazy, a selfish need to satisfy our individual needs.
That table there, that's where I picked the glass and threw it at him. He dodged of course, the glass shattered, shards scattered everywhere. Then we were clambering up against each other. Fighting for it. The glass cut into our feet - the frustration overpowering. The pain of our desire was worse. The argument forgotten.
In the morning he would wrap my feet in bandages, stroking my ankle, tracing my heel with his finger. His lips brushing against the small cuts. He wouldn't apologise, he never did but that was okay.
On the windowsill there used to be a frame. A photograph, eternalising that single moment in an instant. His arm reaching out holding the camera squint, that broad smile of his, my eyes shining, my lips pressed against his stubble. After the flash we fell back onto the bed, the soft pillows cushioning our fall. That look - the one that made me believe he knew me more than I knew me - sending tingles up my spine. The lingering kisses trailing down from the lips. His firm yet sensitive hold bringing me too him as he eased his way into me slowly. The long gasps, as if we were suffocating in each other. The escaping moans and the declarations during warm love.
The breaking up and the making up. The erratic arguments that sent me crying off. The insecurities, the jealousy, the irrational thinking. Like a monster tugging at my insides. Who is she? Why is he talking to her? Why is she touching his arm? The time he punched that man that winked at me. I got angry, but secretly I relished and reeled in it.
I sit hugging my knees to me. Laughing - yes there was laughter. Laughing till its painful, tears streaming, faces red, clutching your stomach because he tried to be romantic once but lost his balance, tumbling into the lake. Him emerging wet his clothes now like a second skin. The smile quirking at his lips, as he runs at me soaking wet. I run because I am wearing my nice dress. The arms flinging me over his shoulders, wading into the lake, my screams futile.
There never seemed to be enough time, the short, sweet, sumptuous kisses were the best. Holding hands showing the world we were together. Showing the world we were invincible.
There were so many moments and I'd like to think that these moments that I remember will fade.
A Love forgotten is so much easier than this. All of it, it is everything I hate. Sometimes I wish that he had died because then I could remember, and it would be life's cruel fate. Now, is a reality that I have to accept, I am trying to, but those memories keep storming in.
There he is. Sitting there. Television on. Eyes dead, almost. When did he last say he loved me? When did we last have sweet tender or fiery passionate sex? I don't know. Now his hands move up and down methodically, then he rolls over. He sleeps, he eats, and he drinks. We don't talk, let alone fight. Its like all the energy that was once so vibrant has dissolved.
Once he inflamed me with love and lust. Now he repulses me. I am already dying. Boredom, unsatisfaction fills me up now. Love has no place here. We are a delightful letdown.
When did boredom murder us and turn love into everything I hate.