REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

19

*sexual content

"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner,
I am ready to receive you."
- Agustin Gomez-Arcos

⭑Holland⭑

I hate it-hate him for the way he's infiltrated my brain. Taken up a residence, kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and just hangs about.

Someone else's lips are grazing my neck and the only thought my mind can produce is how Harry's lips would feel in that exact spot. Sends a shiver down my spine.

Come on, Holland. Focus on the hot rugby player who's been giving you attention all night at the bar.

"Shall we get outta here?" He asks with crazed eyes.

What should be an easy "yes" from me, turns into a battle between my brain, heart, and throat. My brain, which is being held captive by my stupidly handsome ex, says don't do it and points a neon arrow straight to Harry. My heart says to do it as a form of self-preservation-to protect itself from shattering more. Like sleeping with this meathead guy will mend what's broken, but it will maybe quiet the screeching for a minute. And my throat can't seem to produce any words right now so I just stare blankly ahead of me.

He asks me again, "Hey, you wanna go to my place or yours?" And then he tries to kiss me. His face is inches from mine and I'm reminded of the perfectly pink lips that I almost touched the other night. I really wanted him to kiss me, too. I'd deny it to the ends of the earth if I had to admit that to anyone, but I remember thinking his mouth would bring some sense of relief. Relief from what, I'm not sure. But relief, nonetheless.

Again, I hate that I'm here trying to go home with another guy for meaningless sex, and Harry is all I can't think about.

Hate it. Despise it. Loathe it. Deplore it.

I'm annoyed now, so much so that I feel the anger rise from my the pit of stomach to my chest to my throat and into my cheeks.

My hands start to sweat and I wipe them on the vintage jeans I've got on. I open my mouth to say something, anything, to this man, but my mouth feels dry all of the sudden and my cheeks are flushed with irritability.

Finally, I'm able to formulate words. Or rather a single word. "Neither," I tell him, my breath becoming jagged.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He stares, confused and looking a little dumbfounded. I don't know what else to do, so I get up and leave without another word.

The noise of the bar behind me, him and his horrible friends probably looking at my arse as I leave. I don't care. All I can see right now is red and it's in the shape of Harry's pretty face.

So damn annoying how attractive he has to be.

And I know it's fucked to just leave this man with zero explanation. How could I explain it though? "Sorry sir, when you tried to kiss me I couldn't get the image of my very attractive ex out of my head and it's annoying me so much that I hate him for it but I also don't really think I hate him at all so I have to go yell at him or something or I'll combust because I don't know how to keep hating someone I think I sort of like". I think he'd tell me I have issues and I need help. Both probably true, to be honest. But I don't need some crude stranger telling me that.