He sits across from me,
always so composed, so correct.
There is a part of him I can't read,
something he won't let me reach.
But I know he wants me,
I know he does.
I walk up to him and straddle his lap,
before he can protest,
my hands are gripping either side of his chair, trapping him.
Mine... finally.
I lean down until our faces are inches apart,
feeling his breath quicken against my skin.
We’re breathing the same air.
I wait.
Suspended,
to see if he'll close the distance.
He does.
His hands pull me in,
and I cup his face like he's something precious
I'm about to break.
I kiss him like I mean it.
Like I missed him.
Like I haven't spent the last week
plotting his slow emotional demise.
My hands start calm,
almost playful as they glide down his chest,
then grow hungrier,
urgent,
greedy,
needing something deeper than skin.
A lover’s touch...
until I reach the place
where softness ends.
"I want you," I whisper against his mouth,
breathless, eyes wide, lips parted.
"I want you so bad."
His lips soften under mine,
but it isn’t enough.
Never enough.
Something inside him stays locked:
untouched, untouchable.
It makes me furious.
I feel it:
that wall.
My nails linger on his skin, delicate. Almost kind.
Like I’m soothing him.
A smile flickers, sly.
Desire curdles.
Resentment turns feral.
And I want in.
My mouth moves lower,
tongue tracing his chest,
hovering just above
the stupid place
where his stupid heart beats.
My eyes darken.
I want to tear him apart.
He knows.
I can see the exact moment he realises it.
Something in my expression gives me away.
His body goes rigid beneath me.
I watch his pupils dilate
as my nails press just a little too hard.
I hear his “oh fuck”
in that split-second
fear floods his system.
Too late.
Snap.
Fingernails dig,
deep, deeper,
skin yields,
crack goes the ribcage.
Spurt goes the blood.
I yank it out like a prize.
Oh, warm.
oh, beating.
oh, mine now.
"You didn't need this anyway."
Scene pulls out.
I'm perched pretty
on top of his open carcass,
cross-legged.
Blood in my hair, down my chin,
dripping like lip gloss.
I giggle.
"Overreacting," they say.
But how else am I supposed to process:
"i cant stop thinking about you"
and then... nothing?
Three months of emotional warfare.
And that’s it?
That's how he leaves me?
Hoping I'll hang on those words like an idiot?
Seriously?
#justgirlythings
Grinning.
I lick the blood from my fingers,
dripping like melting ice cream.
I only wanted his heart.
Now look.
"I always get what I want though."
One way or the other.
Then I look at you.
Head tilt.
Wink.
"Next?"