Burning Sensation

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴡᴏ

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen flickering to life. The vibration cuts through my reverie, a jarring intrusion that tugs me back to reality. It's a persistent tug, refusing to let me sink deeper into my thoughts.

I stare at it blankly as the vibration persists, a contrast to the stillness of the room. After a minute, it falls silent, only to start buzzing again. I reach out, my hand closing around the device as I swipe to silence it. The screen goes dark, and the sudden quiet envelops me once more.

I lay in bed, still wearing the same work clothes from the day before, the memory of our confrontation seared into my mind. I groan, rolling face up on the bed as my mind flips through everything that's happened last night. Everything replayed on repeat in my mind, each word and gesture etched in my memory like a scar.

My clothes from the day before were crumpled and worn, a testament to the sleepless night I'd endured. The sheets were tangled around my legs, and my eyes felt heavy, as if weighed down by the tears I allowed to flow freely when I was alone.

The weight of my anger and frustration still lingers in the air even after so many hours has passed. The anger I had unleashed on her simmers beneath the surface, refusing to dissipate. I have never felt such a deep sense of betrayal. She stole from me, not just files, but trust, despite knowing I loved her.

Love. Love? What's that? Why does something good hurts so bad because even after everything, after her betrayal, I still love her.

I have always prided myself on being the strong one, the one who kept it together, but now I felt like I was barely holding on. I thought I'd feel a sense of relief when I gave her the papers, of closure, but instead, I felt hollow. It seemed to mock me now, flaunting how even through my anger, I still want to seek her.

That's one thing about being mad. When the anger fades, there's an unrelenting dull ache. The anger hurts more, but it's easier to ride out than the ache, which never seems to go away. Sadly, I wasn't just angry, I was pissed, every flare of anger like a sharp knife through my chest.

My body aches from lack of sleep, my mind foggy as regret burns through my body. I wasn't proud of how I reacted when I saw her. The lust and possessiveness that overcame me rivals the disgust I felt of myself when I finished.

I shouldn't have used her like that knowing I was angry. What if I'd hurt her? What if I'd lost my self control and I hurt her?

I slowly swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet dangling in the air as I tried to muster the energy to get up. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiar surroundings, but everything felt different now, tainted by different memories of us.

Every corner of this room holds a special memory; us bingeing movies on the beanbag, us eating ice-cream on the bed when she was on her period, us dancing to slow jam because why not?