The boys in my life suck horribly, but they do make for good writing inspiration.=) A story bout a guy that I am or have been somewhat involved with. I was listening to the song Bulletproof by Kerli when I wrote this.



He smiles so easily and it looks wholesome and trusting and I can't help but smile in return and drop all walls.

His words come easy and warm and he says them all with such perfect poise.

Lies that I do well to eat up stupidly.

I know they're lies.

Let him lie to me, I can take it, I'm a big girl.

And who needs the truth anyway?

For the few hours that I'm with him, I'll focus on the things he tells me, the lies he weaves.

It's okay to surround myself in this fantasy he sets me in, this isn't real anyway.

We're not real.

He moves closer toward me and tells me he's missed me from the last time we were together like this.

I smile through the lie and allow his arms to wrap around my waist as he pulls me closer toward him until I'm pressed flush against him.

My heart quickens and my body warms as I place my hands appropriately against his shoulders.

I try not to think too much about what it may mean for him to keep up this charade and to continue to lie to me as thus.

What's the point in hurting me like this?

He speaks again telling me all the nice things I want to hear.

The things that cause my heart to race and my face to burn. I lean in to rest my head against his chest.

He kisses my forehead.

I try to ignore the obvious affects of such a simple gesture and I tell myself I am much more stronger than this.

I'm never the type to fall so easily.

I am not the type to be used and fooled and then used and fooled again.

I admit I've done my share of unfair heartbreak. Plenty.

But I'm not the one to be on the wrong end of a faulty relationship such as this.

And I try not to become so affected of his hands moving against my figure.

Up under my shirt and with that sudden touch of skin on skin I'm suddenly shot, and then I'm horribly aware that I'm not as bulletproof as I think I am.

Quietly I speak, "I know what you're doing…"

His hands pause in their movement.

And without looking up to him I realize that I've hit some faulty nerve. His serpent's smile is distinguished and I feel only half victorious.

"Oh?" He asks in a low voice before leaning away to properly look down to me and force me to look to him, "What am I doing?"

My frown deepens and I send him my meanest glare that all too clearly screams, 'Do you think I'm stupid?'

He stares intrigued before a light smile graces his features then he grins and gives a small scoff of laughter,

"I already told you I'm sorry for not calling. I was busy."

"You call me only when I'm convenient."

He leans in to kiss my frowning lips, "Convenient for what?"

"For…this" I gesture between us, "Every time you call it's for this." I scowl looking away, "And that's all."

"I'm sorry." He says condescendingly making me look to him curiously, "I really do mean to spend more time it's just," He looks away irritably, "My schedule is really crazy, and my families back in town…"

I give an irking glare at this because not a word of this is true.

I know it…and I think he knows I know it as well.

And I think it amuses him to some extent.

And there's a pain in my chest when I wonder what will happen when that amusement runs out.

When he is done with his excuses he looks to me kindly and smiles (or is it a smirk) and leans in to kiss me gently against my forehead once more before saying,

"I can understand why you'd be upset…but I'm seriously sorry. And I really had meant to call you…"

He leans in and kisses against my lips and something in my stomach flutters.

I kiss him back.

"Are you really mad…?" He questions heatedly against my mouth and his hands are on the move again.

And in the darkened small space of his apartment it's suddenly to stuffy and I find my hands grasping against his shirt as the kiss continues to become more demanding.

He takes a cautious step forward making me step back and this continues till we near his couch.

I realize this and break from the kiss with breathless, "Yes…I am still mad…"

He gives a light chuckle as he lowers kisses to my neck and I give a hateful blissful sigh.

And I try not to think how these simple touches this simple affections make me want to give everything to him.

"You won't be for long…" He mutters as he lowers himself to the couch dragging me down with him.

My body melts as his lips fall once more on mine.

And I hate what he does to me, cause it's the same old thing.

And once again I'm shot.

I cling to him desperately, wantingly as we fall back against the couch.

I will stay in this fantasy, in this hurt and lies…I will stay with him.

And even though it's futile I still hope that he's careful with what he does to me.

Because I am horribly aware that I'm not as bulletproof as I think I am.