𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 |𝟏𝟖+|

𝐒 𝐈 𝐗 𝐓 𝐘 ~ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐕 𝐄 𝐍 ☆

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

✼ N E V A E H ✼

I don't know what I expected him to say. 

Mostly I don't know what I expected to happen after he fucked my brains out. For us to curl up and cuddle until the sun rose all the way up? Pillow talk until one of drifts to sleep? I've never done that with any of the men I've slept with, so why did I expect it to happen with him? Why did I want it to?

Now, I was really doing the walk of shame. Our bedrooms are not far from each other, but that walk felt like forever. It was slow, full of guilt, dread, and regret. I shouldn't be making it that much of a big deal but that's exactly what happens when I set my expectations way too high.

I half expected him to step out of the room and call after me and say it was a mistake. That he didn't mean it. But that's the thing about expectations, they always have you wishing and expecting things to happen even when all the evidence is pointing in a completely different direction. 

He's an asshole and I never want to see him again. 

Yeah, I'd probably let that thought sit in for a bit because that sex was mind blowing. Maybe I can ignore his asshole-ness and just fuck him. We could be fuck buddies. That'd totally work. At least I'm not the one going to sleep on a cum-filled bed tonight. 

I can't believe I told his entire family that he was my boyfriend. I also can't believe I spent my birthday standing with his hand on my waist and me by his side. Talking, laughing, and smiling.  He doesn't deserve to be my boyfriend or my anything, any type of friend. He's just a piece of bone and flesh that just existed. That's it. Nothing else.

It's crazy how the slightest ping of rejection allows you to feel emotions so deeply. To allow things to fully register. I didn't even realize that I was already at my bedroom door with my hands tightly holding onto the doorknob. As if I were afraid to open the door and welcome what was on the other side. 

I swing the door open, paying no mind to where my feet were taking me. That's when I felt something at my feet, it was soft, velvety, delicate even. Oh my God, did I finally kill one of Atlas' bunnies?! Thank God. They were terrible. 

Does that make me terrible for wishing on their death? No. 

Great!

I turn on the lights anyway to get a better look at what I might've killed. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Michael B. Jordan was sitting on my bed, shirtless. I rubbed my eyes just to make sure I wasn't seeing things. And I was, it must've been a flashback of my dream last night. I was so pissed that I woke up. 

I was so close to having sex with him in my dream. Is that even possible? Whatever. I rub my eyes again to ensure that the sight in front of me was actually real and not a fragment of a dream I had before. My room was covered in flowers. 

Not any kind of flowers. My favorite- white hibiscus flowers. They were everywhere in the room. They were in the previously empty vase, all over my bedside table, my dresser, my couch, my floor, and my fucking bed. 

I closed the door behind me and rested my back on it, locking it in the process. I crossed my hands over my chest and smiled, taking in the scene in front of me. No one has ever done something like this for me. And I know I shouldn't cry over this because it's just flowers. And flowers die eventually. So does infatuation, desire, lust...love. Everything dies eventually. 

I wipe the pitiful tears from my face and head to my bed. I reach to switch off the lamp  and my arm bumps something in the process. I can't even stop myself from smiling as I hold a crocheted bouquet of flowers with a crotchet note attached to it. Happy birthday, my Stella. It read. Okay, maybe I don't hate him that much.