Tak'n Awey

▽. 7

I wake up to a well-prepared breakfast, a hot guy in a colorless tee, and him flashing a beautiful smile. I smirk, swaddled in his thick, tan bed blankets, attempting to hide my nakedness.

It's 6:11am. I need to get going.

Though, I'm anxious and determined to leave, I've never had breakfast in bed before... and I definitely have never slept with a stranger in a night.

What the hell happened to me? Why did I do this?

"Thank you," I say to him as he passes the plate of delicacies.

He answers with a twinkle in his light colored eyes, almost as if he is smiling with them, "You're welcome."

As I began chomping away, Justin leaves the room and doesn't return until I am finished with my breakfast. And when he does reenter, we tend to lock eyes occasionally. He blushes, and so do I, but I'm not only blushing because I think I like him—I'm blushing because oh my god, he took my virginity. I gave my virginity away to this guy!? That's not how I imagined my first time going. Wow. I think I like him. I'm still naked. I'm in his bed naked. He sees all of me in the flesh and I'm not a virgin anymore oh my god.

In the midst of my mental breakdown, Justin sits onto the bed beside me and I hand him my empty plate and say with a straightforward and nonchalant voice, "Yummy."

His face twists, but he snickers, "You good?"

"Yep." I fake smile, showing no teeth. And he snickers again. Why's he always laughing? Can he read my lies that well?

"Well..." as Justin clears his throat, he caresses my cheek—quickly, yet softly—and then continues, "It's early. Let's get you home."

In the spur of the moment, I'm cut by a sharp blade and want to smack the shit out of that fondling hand of his. He wants me gone already, huh!? I mean, I know I need to go, obviously, but he didn't have to say it like that. Or am I overthinking it? Say it like what, Mahrie. What is he saying "it" like?

I won't lie, I become a little salty.

"Want me gone so quickly, huh?" I reply with a crack of anger and sarcasm. Like I said, I'm salty, so I want to be sure he knows it.

He becomes cognizant of my slight change of voice, "Well, no, actually. No, I don't. I just figured you had shit to do today, since you wanted to leave here so badly."

Of course I have stuff to do today. Nothing comes to mind at this exact moment, but of course I do. Still, I'm not convinced that I'll be back to my old self—returning to my poor, destitute home and nonexistent social life isn't something I'm dying to see immediately. This has been a traumatizing experience. Both good and bad. It would take a miracle for me to forget any of this.

Justin yanks off his t-shirt while roaming into his titanic closet. He then exits and I get a distinct glimpse of his body. Given that it's daytime and an uneasy amount of natural light is raying into the bedroom, I can capture him as a whole. Skin as dark as a prune or a fig—not purplish, more so on the darker brown side—and it's beautiful. He favors the actor, Lance Gross, and singer, Frank Ocean, but with his own twist. And that's a pretty nice duo.

I had sex with him? No fucking way.

"Right. I do have some stuff to do," I retort nonchalantly. Even if I didn't have a busy day planned, which I don't, it wouldn't change his decision to let me stay. I'd still have to go. People have lives to live, right?

"See!" He affirms and then points to what appears to be a dresser, "Your clothes are there—washed and dried. Take your time. I'm about to hop in the shower."