Savior

The Girl at the Cafe

My body practically screams in frustration as I detach myself from Jaime and flop down on the blankets next to her. She lets out a satisfied sigh before wrapping her body around me like a koala bear and despite my frustration I still wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“Wow, Haz. I think that was the best it’s ever been.”

I can’t help but snort at the irony of the statement, but when she looks up at me with a proud grin on her face I can’t help but return it. As soon as she lays her head back on my chest though, an immediate scowl takes over my features.

Jaime is the perfect girlfriend: loyal, considerate, sweet, and beautiful in every way, but I feel my affection for her shrinking every day. At first the little things began to annoy me like her constant need to agree with me even if she truly didn’t and how she always does exactly as I say without challenging me. But, now, even sex has become a chore. I had to strain myself to finish.

And I can’t help but blame myself.

She has honestly done nothing wrong -in fact nothing has changed with her. We go to the movies or dinner, then we come home and strip each other, then we have sex –missionary- every time. And maybe that’s the problem -it has become so mundane and routine that it bores me.

Sex. Sex bores me.

My fourteen year old self would be weeping.

“Can we just stay in bed all day?” Her voice is small and hopeful as she traces patterns into my chest, but noticeably avoids touching the swirls of ink that litter my skin. She hates them, but would never admit it of course.

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve got plans with Niall that I’m already late for.”

She looks disappointed, but nods anyway in understanding and I sigh just wishing that she would speak her mind for once. She slips from my arms to get dressed and I briefly admire her figure before I too slip out of the sheets to pull on my discarded flannel and ripped jeans.

We fix ourselves in silence and I lead Jaime out of the apartment, while casting a swift glance towards the apartment next door as if I could see through it. Jaime begins to ramble on about the newest gossip about some celebrity and I hum and gasp when appropriate, but my mind is focused on the redhead next door.

It’s been about a week since our confrontation on my balcony and I have only seen her twice. Once just a few days ago when she saw me and literally ran the other way. That stung a bit. And then just the day before yesterday as she was standing on her balcony and I just happened to walk by.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I actually sat by the glass doors to my balcony and observed her secretly like some peeping tom. She wasn’t even doing anything special –just leaning over the ledge and watching the people below her walk by. But, for some reason, I took in every minute detail about her; the way her short tendrils danced in the wind, how her full lips were constantly trapped between her teeth, and how she strangely seemed to flinch at every honking of a horn or the sound of a pedestrian yelling at another.

Her mysteriousness fascinated me and I found myself rushing to my sketchbook right after she had slipped back into her bedroom.

I am seriously starting to question my sanity.

“Harry!” I am pulled from my reverie when Jaime waves her hand in front of my face and I notice we had somehow made it to the front of my building, “Do you agree?”

“Uh, yeah, totally.” I nod eagerly even though I have no idea what she is talking about and I silently scold myself for thinking of another woman when I’m with my girlfriend.