For Lovers Only - [A Zarry Stylik]©️

IV- NEW YORK, NEW YORK

H,

I hung up the phone feeling sick. Everything was spinning and I was spinning too. I dropped it next to me on the sofa and then crawled down on all fours to lay on the floor. What was I doing? Why was I doing this? I can't resist him. I can't and it pains me so.

I am flawed. Not perfect. I am not a dream. I am a reality. I am someone who loves too much. Too fast and I suffer for it. My heart is his. It's always been, and it was broken, been put back together so many times I don't even think it's the shape of a heart anymore.

My fingers touch my lips as I recall the taste of him, while I try to breathe again. His voice. His touch. His warmth. All of that was pulling me in again. Why was I back? Why did I come back? I was fine suffering at a distance. I was fine living a lie with someone else trying to find some semblance of happiness across the pond. I was fine.

Was I?

How can one resist such a temptation? I am flawed! I am a terrible friend. I am a liar. I play shadow games and I love it. I love him. I know I shared a place in his heart with someone else, but I fought to keep my spot. I fought to have him. I pulled and pulled. I touched, I whispered, I was there - He saw me. I was always there.

We had a history: started in school, sipped into university and then into adulthood. We had little affairs, little secrets and...it was wrong. I know. I'm a destroyer.

I loved it.

I love how he looked at me, how he said my name, and how his fingers ran through my hair. I love how he gave in to me and how I gave in to him. How, sinful, and pornographic we can be, but so full of love. I love the way he loves me.

I am flawed. So is he.

I came back in secret. I didn't want him to know. I wanted to punish him. I've been punishing him for a while with my silence and keeping him away from me. For my sanity. It was my atonement for my behaviour. But, how can I resist, being in the same town as him and not feeling him close? Dreading stepping out and seeing him walk by me. Or worse, seeing them. I should've been stronger.

I came home, dropped my bags, and looked at my flat full of memories of us. I could see us everywhere: on my sofa watching shows, in the kitchen making a late breakfast, out on the terrace enjoying the sunset, and in the bedroom making love. And it hurt my heart. I hurt so much that I cried.

I cried because I wanted him. I loved him. I've always had. And I was patient. I waited. I prayed. I was respectful, but fuck...I want him.

Until you have a love like ours you cannot judge. Our story is not rose-coded, smelling of bubble gum or candy. It's betrayal. Lies. People got hurt.

And I love it still. I love him more.

****

A week ago, I came home, dropped my bags, and cried. Then, I walked out again. I should've stayed home and slept it all, but the calling was too great for me to ignore. I walked to him. All the way there, step, after step, feeling my bones ache and sweat forming under my armpits, I walked.

I got there, standing in the shadows across the street and I saw him. Through the tall glass windows in this big open space, surrounded by paintings authored by others, there he was talking amicably to a blonde woman.

He looked the same. A bit more beard, a bit stockier, and his dark hair had grown, but it was him. He seemed happier, calmer, and certain. Standing straight, shoulders back and arms crossed at the chest. I held on to the wall, scratching my fingers on the coarse stone and yelling out to him in my mind.