𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

2

dylan hayes

I rest my hands on the comforter that covers my torso, feeling as my chest heaves up and down underneath them.

Taking one last look at the man next to me who's dead asleep, I peel off the covers and start picking up my clothes. I change in the bathroom and try my best to make myself look presentable enough before slipping out the front door of his apartment.

When I walk out of the complex I'm greeted by the refreshing summer night air that's not cold just not warm. It's pleasant.

I push all thoughts of the past few hours out of my mind, hoping to delay the inevitable regret and self-hatred that follows.

After a few minutes of walking, I reach my car and practically throw myself into it. The drive home is filled with blasting music, a pathetic attempt to delay thinking of any kind. I abandon my car in the driveway and walk into my house, making sure to lock the door behind me.

I'm greeted by a very excited Poppy, my puppy golden retriever who skids when she runs too fast on my floors. I named her after my favourite flower at the time I got her.

"Hey Poppy." I fuss her and scratch under her chin and ears which I can tell she loves by the way she sighs contently.

Standing to my feet I start making my way upstairs, laughing as she sprints up in front of me making the metal tag on her collar to shake wildly.

She follows me around the house, watching intently as I slip out of my clothes and into a robe. I throw her a chew toy and she hops on my bed, easily entertaining herself.

I walk into my bathroom and start my shower, rubbing my skin until it's red and irritated but it still doesn't feel clean enough.

I hate that I do this to myself countless nights a week. I hate that I feel like I'm worth less because I have sex. I hate that I feel cheap and used and disgusting. And I hate that it's all my fault.

I chose to have sex. I've chose many many many times to sleep with people. Even when I know I'll regret it after, I still do it because it feels so good. It feels like I'm spending all of my time chasing a high that makes me feel even worse than I did to start with and I hate it but I can't stop.

It's a constant need, something that's always lingering at the back of my head. I'm like a drug addict starving for their next fix. It doesn't matter who I get it from, it's the outcome I crave. I just want to feel good and the easiest way in my mind is to have sex or masturbate or do something sexual.

It serves as a distraction from my own head until after, when the high drops and everything I've been trying to forget crashes back.

Stepping out of the water, I wrap a towel around myself and my hair. I walk back into my bedroom saying another hello to Poppy and start getting dressed.

After moisturising my body I slip on a pair of cotton shorts and a big white oversized top.

I hop onto my bed and pull out my latest romance book, hoping for a distraction. Poppy comes to sit on my lap, snuggling into my body and I turn of the main lights, leaving my room to be lit by a small orange light.

I read for a few hours until my eyes become heavy. Placing my book on my nightstand and my phone on charge, I switch off my lamp.

☼

I wake up in the morning with my hair a mess so after changing into a summer dress I plait my hair into a single braid.

Me and Poppy walk down stairs and I grab some breakfast while she goes and plays in my garden.