ethan dolan imagines

borrowed time//one

unedited

Your POV
almost everyday i make a mental life-check, anxiously thoughtful about my mistakes and odd choices in life that have lead me to this, rather awful feeling. but i put myself through it, like i said, i riskedf it-for someone else-and here i am, sleeping on my own side of the bed separated from a companion-the only type of way to describe him-and he's snoring quietly, drowned in his own sleep while the whites of my eyes are visible, pupils towards the wall as i face away from this man. and i'm naked, bare and disrespected of my modesty, dignity, everything else that's almost heart scarring.

lucky me we're separated at a comfortable distance, since his body is also bare all the way, and i have no interest in laying a single touch on his shared skin, 'cause just even seeing it reminds me of the repeated question in my head:

why the hell am i even still in the same room as him?

fuck, i hate him so much, i thoroughly hate his guts and his mind through and through, and it makes me want to stick a needle in my eye for even giving in to his touch just a while ago-for sadly, he can make me weak at the legs, desperate for more and more, faster, more rough, touch me until i shiver and curl, whimper and moan, and everything else in between, because there's a whole lot in between.

and dear God, how awful i feel sharing his bed right now, i repeat, true border between us (a mental image of a wall that cuts the bed in half), even though it was crumbled down and non-existent just minutes ago. and my, was it thrilling-

-but that died once it's over, we both got what we wanted and craved as a regular human, and after a silent, awkward night, we separate our ways and continue our day...just like a regular human.

a regular human, i make it sound like a person that has no value in emotions. it could be true, 'cause he definitely made me feel like everything he's done is normal. no emotional value, he'd say, just a quick solve of our own sexual cravings.

no feelings, he'd say, why are you crying, y/n-

and from that, a violent ache of anger and frustration washes over me like a strong wave, as i sit up in an obvious way, making him stir.

you're just a quickie. get out of here tomorrow morning-

i wrap my arms around my stomach trying to find anymore purity or any sort of pride in myself. i attempt to cherish my body close and comforting, tilting my head to view me waist up, i'm not going to hurt myself anymore. my thumb pads over a cluster of purplish-blue crescents along the right side of my hip, half-hearted bites and kisses. anything special about them? no, just supposedly beautiful yet really ugly marks that'll wear off in a couple days.

no, they aren't love bites.

what even is love anyway? guilty words swarm my head like hornets, and i quick get up of the bed, not even giving a single fuck if it'll wake up his peaceful sleep. i hear him groan deeply and hazily, which makes me cringe.

i squint to find my clothes sprawled all over the floor, and i lazily pick them up groaning impatiently, since every single fabric of mine seem to be in every corner of the room, and it makes me shiver and the reason behind it, it feels sinful.

i grab my shirt that was once thrown on top of his photo frame of his family, as awful as it sounds, and i hear him groan and i turn my head to see his arm cover his eyes. "what's going on?"

i remain quiet, gathering my clothes in a messy ball in my hand, still bare in the moonlight. his breaths get gradually heavier, as his awareness of his surroundings get better. "fuck, y/n, what're you doing," he says finally turning his head to meet my gaze, only too smirk in a quick second, noticing my naked figure. and i hear a faint, "beautiful" escape his lips.