One Shots

Inhalation (PG-13)

A/N: what a way to return to Wattpad with a shitty, depressing one shot. Can't expect anything more from me though xD it's also very unsatisfying and might be hard to wrap your head around. It'd be interesting to see if anyone can figure out what's actually going on/happened in this one though.

Breathe Me Like Poison

He placed the cigarette between his lips and inhaled, staring up at his ceiling. He often spent his nights like this, laying beside another fuck with no name. He didn't care to remember them. It made it easier when they walked out the morning after without even a goodbye.

Endless, endless, endless need to be loved. To be had. It was always over before it even started. A quick twenty minutes of shagging and then they'd be lying beside each other wordlessly with no real reason to speak because they meant nothing to each other. Just another escape.

He felt like telling them to leave, just get out, before they fell asleep but he never did. He allowed them to continue laying there naked beside him as if there was something more to their encounter. Something more than just bodies using bodies to relieve all their pent up frustrations. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream but instead he'd just light a cigarette and smoke it to himself.

He was so lost. So tired of it all but he couldn't stop. Every weekend, out to score another meaningless fuck. Another meaningless twenty minutes and hours of restlessness, rolling cigs and smoking them down to the filter waiting for the sun to rise so he could wake the bastard beside him up and tell him he had shit to do. He didn't.

His mind was empty. Nothing there. Just nothing. Always nothing.

The sun came up a few hours later. He kicked his leg out to wake the guy next to him, it took a few tries but eventually there was a stir beneath the covers and the one night stand was groaning as he pulled himself upright. "Sorry," he muttered, "didn't mean to fall asleep."

They always said that. It was never true. They always stayed, always fell asleep, always, always, always. "It's fine." Foster would mutter back. It wasn't fine, but what did that matter?

He locked the door after the guy had left, headed straight for the shower to wash all remnants of last night from his body. He couldn't stand the morning's after, it made his skin crawl. He had to get it all off. Erase everything. Forget all about it until next weekend when he'd be in the exact same situation.

Some of them left bruises and that drove Foster insane because he couldn't wash them away. He'd always say it, always, in the midst of sex he'd murmur a breathless, "Don't leave a mark...don't leave a mark..." but they wouldn't listen and the next morning there he'd be scrubbing at his skin wishing he could wash the bruises away like it was just smudged paint.

"God fucking damn it!" He screamed, throwing the soap across the bathroom as he collapsed on the floor, beneath the water of the shower that had lost its warmth but he didn't shiver. He was too hot with anger and busy fighting off the memories flooding in of last night and how fucking used and dirty he felt. Why, why, why was a question he couldn't stop asking. He covered the bruise on his thigh with his hand and tried to breathe, forget it was there. Act like he was imagining it.

He got up, wrapped a towel around himself and headed for his bed but something stopped him. The covers. The sheets. All reminders of his latest fuck and he couldn't just go to sleep. Couldn't just collapse and fall into darkness.

He grit his teeth, got dressed, shoved the sheets in the washing machine and cleaned his whole flat, room to room, bleaching everything.

Then he sat on the sofa and let time tick by for a few hours. Just sitting there, staring at the blank screen of the TV. His eyes flicked over to his phone that was dead on the coffee table. He hadn't charged it for three days.