a c h e

t w o

The next morning you tapped on my shoulder and called my name continuously to wake up. I tuned around from my crumpled position to face you.

"I'm sorry," you had whispered.

I lifted my head an looked at your prepared body. You had on a plain tee and jeans. I had kept the outfit adorned on your body folded in our drawers. Your hands were tucked awkwardly into your unzipped jacket pockets as you leant over the bed.

You're telling me you're sorry for going back to her?

"Okay," I answered, but I knew.

I knew you had gotten a text from her.

I'm sorry, it said. A phrase in which I had gotten from you a lot.

You didn't know that I saw it. You thought I had been sleeping, but I was awake the whole time. Long enough to watch you carefully lift your phone up to check for any messages. Much to your luck there was one.

"Wait," I grabbed his arm before he could get up.

Kiss him.

I wanted to, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't be able to bare the taste of someone else's lips on his. Not hers.

You already crossed the line when you let him keep coming back.

"What?" He asked deeply.

I adverts my eyes to the side in nervousness.

"I hope she loves you the same."

His eyes dropped, he almost looked guilty.

"I'm sorry."

You said that yesterday. You said that last week. You said that last month.

"Then stop coming back," I whispered tiredly, not meaning to let the words slip.

"You keep letting me in," he argued.

I looked away again, letting go of his arm.

He shook his head and jumped up, walking away to leave out of the room door. The sound of the hard wood floors creaking under his shoes echoed until he finally left our apartment.