I was almost giddy with excitement when the day finally came. In a mere two hours, I'd finally give myself to him. Without any regrets. And from what I could tell, he was expecting me, waiting for when the time was right for me to fall willingly into his long-awaiting arms.
He waited, downstairs, just for me to take that last leap of faith. And I knew he wouldn't let me go, even if there was someone better worth catching, he couldn't let me go. He's told me that this wasn't the first time somebody had done this, and he made clear to me that I would never be the last.
The thought saddens me slightly, knowing I wouldn't be the only one he's taken. But that thought would be pushed aside by many other unwanted, terrible thoughts. Terrible thoughts that drove me down a path I had no intentions of going.
Then I remind myself, "this way you know you'll never have another bad memory again."
He was still waiting, downstairs. I could almost hear the distant tapping of his fingers. I heard my heart thumping in anticipation against my ribs and I realised that his fingers were tapping to the rhythmic beating of my heart.
I was sitting on the edge for a very, very long time. I stared at my bare feet, dangling over. They looked as though they could just touch the ground if I stretched far enough. I knew I could never reach, I imagined my bedroom floor was just too far away for me to touch from here, so alike many other things in my relatively short life.
The man downstairs was still waiting, his fingers tapping faster and faster because of his impatience to want to take me as soon as he could. But the time wasn't right.
Not long to go now.
YOU ARE READING
The Man Downstairs.
RandomIt's been four months since I'd decided to do this. Four months. That's a long time to change your mind about something as important as this day. I'm committed though. I'll do what I think is right. But what if I don't know what right is?
