reticent

adj.

1. Inclined to keep one's thoughts, feelings, and personal affairs to oneself. .

2. Restrained or reserved in style.

3. Reluctant; unwilling.

Saturday night burns this redness on my face. I slowly exhale, letting the sound of my voice echo off the walls in my room.

I smile at the ceiling permenantly located above my bed. I grin tooothily as I roll over to unblinkingly blink at my pillow. I laugh.

A good chuckling sound laced thick with his naivity. I don't think I ever said his name. I inhale and breath.

There's a pounding at my door. Sobs. Cries of my name. I roll over, scratch my stomach. Stand.

I walk to the door and request to know who it is. Like any one else would be at my door at three in the morning.

"It's me! Seb." I pretend to make an oh of surprise and unlock the door. He stumbles in.

His face is red and sticky with bodily fluid and frustration.

I murmer soothing words, useless, asthetic things. I'll never mean them. I tell him these happy thoughts.

At least I know the truth. It bursts and bumbles. Saying he's done something bad, oh something terrible.

"Calm down. What?" The words come out soft and cooing.

"I cheated on you!" I smile above his head. I say everything I'm supposed to say. I pull away.

Turn my back, ask him why. He cries and yells saying something about being confused, not knowing what was going on.

Getting caught up in it. He was just caught up in it.

I tell him to leave, make my shoulders shake. I know he's crying. I know he thinks he deserves this.

When he shuts the door, softly, I smile. Laughing I return to bed, grining at my pillow in triumph.

I go about my weak the next few days and he's back.

At my door crying sobbing. Needing and wanting and pleading forgiveness. He tells me he loves me.

I smile at him through the door even if he can't see it. Maybe I'm the fucked up one here but this is just so much fun.

I let him in on the fourth return visit. He has tears on his red flushed face and walks in shoulders slumped in defeat.

I sit and glare at him, waiting for him to make his case, again. Waiting for the words that will 'make me forgive him'.

After thirty three minutes twenty seconds, he does.

I smile softly sadly, and kiss him. He kisses back, the enthusiasm of a dehydrated man in the desert heading towords

his mirage. I let myself take up the moments. And I'm on top of him, pressing him into the floor. Kissing harder than

I ever have. Moving my hands rougher than I normally do. He's eating it up. Moaning and spreading and arching

like some wonton whore.

I make sure to leave bruises on him. Little bite marks across his torso. He loves this.

The little masochist showing his colors. After I know he's too caught up in it. Just too caught up in me. I turn him over.

I'm in him, I know. In his mind and in his body and he loves me. LOVES me for this. This pain and this moment.

He loves me for the dirty talk. The dirty sheets. The pressure. He loves me for how distant I am, even if he only knows it

subconsciously. And I relish in it. Tomorrow he'll be sore and happy. and he'll be mine.

His honesty's a virtue that can hurt him, but I let it be. I wanted to turn him into a slut, I don't care about what he says.

I just wanted to fuck him. And to hurt him, but most importantly. I wanted him to become addicted to me. As he has.

It wasn't even hard to do.

It's been three weeks. Three weeks since then and now I think I'm panicking. Because. In my own sadistic way I think

I'm falling in love with him. The way he smiles. laughs, cries. The way he likes to be fucked in the shower. How he screams

durring sex. All of it.

I can't stand it. I'm such a weak simpering fool. Turned to putty by this whining little brat of a man. He's no good. I hate him.

I can't. can't -love him. I know. I know. too close. I've gotten too close. I pull out my ace. My winning card. Tell him that I drugged him.

That I payed some woman to sleep with him.

To tell him lies. and it worked. He cried and hugged himself and fled.

I was happy again.
wasn't I?

But then he was back again, crying at my door. How I hate it when he does that. I was in the middle of something too!

I pull on a pair of pants. Open the door. glare. what the fuck is wrong with you, cant you see I love you. cant you see

that's bad? instead I say. "what do you want. I was in the middle of someone." He tears fall faster when he hears someone

call for me from my bed. "I loved you. Why" I give him my only answer. "Because I wanted you to be mine. Not to be yours."

I shut the door.