Fetish for my love [a book of smut]

No contact

[ not edited!]

I've only been in this apartment for three days. All I have is my bed in my living room floor and boxes towering along the walls. I am now alone. Alone with a million people to call. So I flick through movies in Netflix and decide music will be fine. But every song is about him and that a he is back.

I said I would leave him alone and now I'm dying. I lay in my bed as my music is beating through me. A few tears slide down my temple and I let the cold from the open window sooth the burn to call. I decide I need a smoke. I lean out my window and let the nicotine settle the nerves. Once I'm done, I put the bud in the ash try on the fire escape. I side down to sit on the floor, listening to the music and the rush of the city.

And it rings, my phone rings. I crawl to my bed, where my phone sits on the charger. The old hard wood floor digs into my bare knees. I look at the name... his name that takes up my screen. I answer.

"Where are you?" Is all he says.

"My apartment."

"You have an apartment?" He huffs, "I just went to your moms house... send me your address."

"Why?" I ask, my heart thudding in my chest. To fast. To hard.

Thud, THud, THUD.

Like my heart wanted to break out of my rib cage.

"I- send me the address." He was stern. He'd never really spoken to me that way. Only on those days after his 10 hour shifts. The kind of days that he's show up covered in grease and looked aged by ten years.

"Yeah. Okay." And I do. I send my address, I send the code to get into the apartment.

"I'll be there in ten." He says, still stern.

"I'll get dressed." I sigh, looking at my appearance in the body mirror leaning on the brick wall.

"Don't..." this was softer, "I miss you. The real you."

And he hangs up. The real me? The one in a crop top and underwear? With wood imprints on my knees? With the random bruises and scars? The real me? Where I'm No make up and hair wild? Or the me that only he got to see?

I sit on my bed, looking at my feet. Pressing down the veins that pop up. My blood pressure must be high. I take a deep breath in and look at my mess of a tiny apartment. The studio that was cheaper then anything else. Though they warned me of this dangerous neighbourhood. But everyone is nice to me.

I stare at my half finished painted, that sports the back of him. And the beautiful miles that I'd connect like constellations. I swallow and swiftly turn it around.

A harsh knock come to my door. I tip toe run to the door, and look through the peep hole. His tall, muscular body stood. His blonde hair longer than the last I saw him. I unlock the door and open it. My finger between my teeth and tearing the peeling skin. Blood pools to the top. He steps in, kicking off his boots. I close the door and lock it. Still i my tip toes, I look up at him. My heart in my throat.

"Hey, lovey." He whispers, rough hand reaching for me.

His palm cups my face and I let my face lay on his palm. My heart is throbbing and the hole in my chest is full but aches.

"Hi," I whisper back.

"You look perfect." He whispers, more to himself.

Perfect? With my deep purple bags, from complete lack of sleep. And skin breaking out from my inability to hold a meal.

"Oh, baby." He whips away a tear from my cheek. "Why you cryin'?"

"I miss you." I whisper, and I know tonight will never happen again.