When your lips broke from mine, you broke my heart, too.
An awful way to live is when you know you're alone. Wide awake with blood-shot eyes. Trying to find comfort in cold, empty sheets. I know it's terrible because I've lived this way for most of my life.
Step-mother after step-mother took the place of Mom. All they wanted from my father was money - and he had more than they could ask for - and he expected them to stay and help take care of his only child, but was never surprised when they walked out in the heels he bought them.
Those nights, my father would be out past my bed time. The house was empty, along with my mind.
But there. Right then. I've never felt more surrounded.
Harry lips on mine filled my body with a feeling I can't describe with my words. His fingers brushing over and his hands gripping me made adrenaline run through my veins.
It was until he carried me away from the wall he pinned me up against, and brought me into my bedroom. My back hit the soft bed and he climbed on top of me, his lips never breaking the contact until he looked down to hike up my dress.
"Uh, Harry?" My voice was soft. I was so vulnerable around him.
His green eyes stared at me through the darkness with a harshness to them. His eyes looked as if they haven't eaten for weeks, and they were hungry for me.
"I can't..." I didn't finish my sentence. I knew Harry wasn't dumb, in fact he was incredibly intelligent. He always seemed to be ten steps ahead of me.
He raised an eye brow. "Why's that, love?" His lips leaned down to meet the base of my neck, his hips grinding against my own.
I had to hold in the urge to moan.
"I-I don't know you." Which was a lie. I could read him like an open book, but I was only into the first chapter. The reason I didn't want to immediately give my body to Harry is because that's what he expected from me.
This game of love is where I'm ahead of Harry, you see. I know his type, the bad boys I oh-so-love, I mean. All they want is to get into your pants a few times, and then they're gone. All you are is a good fuck.
And I want to be more than that.
Harry seemed to push his upper body off me, to where he kneeled over my right leg. "Because you don't know me?"
The only sound in the room was our breathing and the ceiling fan. Harry pushed himself off the bed, snickering to himself.
"I'm not the type of guy you want to sleep with, then." He looked for something on the floor.
I raised an eye brow, propping myself up on my elbows. "Why do you say that, Harry?"
He found his shirt, which I didn't even notice him take off, and he slid it over his toned body, covering the small works of art on the actual masterpiece.
"I'm not one to 'get to know' people before we fuck." He looked for something else on the ground through my messy room. "I'm not one to fall in love, Brinley. And 'getting to know' someone is another way of saying 'preparing to love'."
I rolled my eyes.
I heard a jingle, coming from keys, and my door opening.
"I'll show myself out." He said, before my door closed.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment before the front door opened and closed.
-
My mind was jumbled with too many words to write down as I sat in the familiar café. My hand was paralyzed from the night before, and my head was still spinning from the events that took place.
I woke up with some nasty bruises. The part that's bad is that I didn't know who they were from: Jessey or Harry. The specks earned me some disgusted looks, which I brushed off since I have no shame. These are love in the form of bites. Well, these seemed to be bites minus the love.
The only person I was upset with was Harry, for being a dick and walking out on me. This map in my head is not following the correct path. Harry needs to get with the program.
I huffed and slammed my pen down. Being a writer is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. You sometimes can't find words in any language to describe what you're feeling. I don't know what I'm feeling right now...but I may be able to jumble a few adjectives into a sentence.
Confused, disappointed, regretful.
How can one person make me feel this way? It's left and right with him. I've always been someone who can write with my pen and turn my emotions into art, but now I'm paralyzed from the effects of having his lips on mine.
Sometimes a person is their own definition.
They're hard to find and the most interesting out of the seven billion people walking the earth. They give me so many words to work with but I can't choose which ones I'd like to use; there are too many precious words to use.
The only word I could use to describe Harry right now was not something I'd like to write about: fucker. I decided I'll write about him tomorrow.
I want to use the words that bring out the best in him.
I'm always going to be sad. Nothing can ever make me forget every single sad thing that has happened to me out of my memory. This sadness is apart of who I am.
But of you can accept me and my sadness, maybe you could bring happiness into my life.
