English Love Affair » z.m au

4. This wasn't it at all.

A/N: A few things we need to point out:

1- I referred to her without a name, because I want to properly introduce her name later on, so hold on.

2- I pretty much finished writing this story and I can't wait to share it all with you guys :)

3- This is an early update in celebration of my birthday, so I really want to know what you think of this, of her, and her husband, and all that.

4- I'll attach a picture of her husband (jake gyllenhaal) to the right so that you can see how I see him.

now, I hope you enjoy this, ily x

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Her

 

My little encounter with that…. that arrogant, self-conceited, stuck up, cold hearted…… greek God, completely sobered me up, because, he fucked me over.

He came inches away from me, and stopped, like what the fuck, a real man would have finished off his work and just done it.

Wait, what the fuck?

No, the problem wasn’t that he stopped, the problem was that he dared come this close to me at the first place.

Yes, that was why I was mad.

It wasn’t because I oh-so wanted to kiss him.

It wasn’t because I got this stupid giddy feeling in my stomach at his proximity.

It wasn’t because my own stupid skin failed me, revealing  its undying need for more.  

This wasn’t it at all.

I was pissed because I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, which had gone absolutely blank at his presence.

Or maybe it was because of the alcohol I had consumed.

Yes, this must have been it.

Right.

I drove back home, thinking of all the things I could have said to this snobby asshole.

Thinking of those heavenly caramel eyes, that seemed to bare you, piercing into your soul. Thinking of those thin lips, and all the unearthly things I wished I could have done to them.

To him.

With his perfectly messy hair, with that blonde quiff.

The black shirt that revealed the tip of his tattoos, which I had a feeling, were plenty.

That goddamn black leather jacket.

And oh those long, thin, legs that hid behind his skinny jeans.

I bet he could rock skinny jeans better than I did.

He wore nothing too special, he shouldn’t have looked this fucking perfect.

I didn’t even know his name.

What the fuck, what kind of gentleman walked away without properly introducing himself?

None.

Because he wasn’t a fucking gentleman.

He was…

I don’t know, I couldn’t quite label him yet, but I wasn’t liking him.

Not one bit.

Not at all.

I parked my car behind my dear husband’s Range Rover; which was one of his many - too expensive, a bit too young for his age- cars.

“ Here goes,” I whispered to myself, attempting to make this a bit more bearable. I opened my front door, to find an empty living room, with the TV still on.

He always had to have some source of sound in the house, he didn’t like the silence very much.

While I, I longed for the silence, prayed for it at times, when it all got a bit too chaotic.

I turned it off, before heading upstairs to the bedroom.

He laid on the king bed, his arms laying numbly beside him, my side of the bed perfectly made.

He didn’t hug a pillow because he missed my presence.

He didn’t snore in his sleep.

He didn’t even turn.

He just laid there.

Plainly, tastelessly, robotically sleeping.

I had always pictured myself waking up in someone’s arms, nuzzling my head in his chest, the sheets being a perfect mess surrounding us. I pictured him kissing my head to wake me up, smiling down at me, before whispering a hoarse “ Good morning, beautiful.” I had pictured myself sleeping while singing his favorite song to him, because my voice calmed him down. I had pictured love, happiness, joy, family, and all that Patrick would never offer.

No one could ever have it all though, right?

He had money, he had looks, he had power, but he didn’t have the heart to appreciate any of this shit.

He always wanted more.

Something was always wrong.

Or was it I who could never settle for anything less than everything?

“ You turned off the TV.” He stated, his sudden outburst causing me to flinch, putting a hand onto my heart to settle it back into its normal rhythm. He opened a single eye, directing it towards me, before closing it again and erupting into dreadful laughter.

“ Where did you run off to?” He questioned, his voice neutral.

“ I just went for a drink.” I replied, shuffling around the room, to maintain the noise he seemed to enjoy. And those familiar caramel eyes broke through all my scattered thoughts.

“ Turn something on, and go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“ We do?”

“ Yes. We have to attend a dinner tomorrow night for work. Wear something presentable. And in the morning, you need to go get my laundry because I am too busy to.” His voice never once faltered, neither lowering, nor rising, always keeping that same tone.

“ I can send-“

“ No.” He interrupted, and I knew better than to argue against him. So I nodded, taking off my dress, before putting on my pajamas. His left eye opened again, as he examined me.

“ Sleep naked.” He demanded.

And even though I could never fall asleep beside him.

Even though my skin crawled in his presence.

I helplessly obliged, laying next to him, leaving a fair distance between us both, almost causing me to fall off the bed all together.

“ Goodnight.” I whispered, my voice little, fearful almost. He didn’t reply. He went to his dull sleep, while I spent the night thinking of how it would feel to wake up to those caramel eyes, and fall asleep listening to that mesmerizing voice that had promised me a next time, calling me beautiful, before departing.