Whiskey Latte

September, 2016

September, 2016

Oskar grabbed the headboard for support, groaning as he neared his melting point. Ingrid's fingernails scratched red ravines into his shoulder blades, which she held onto for dear life. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and stifled his urge to scream. Making love to Ingrid always made him mad because it felt so good but he felt so guilty.

Too damn good. So fucking guilty.

He rolled off her when she released him and lay still on his back to catch his breath. By not opening his eyes, he hoped he'd fall asleep and wake up only to find it had all been a dream he'd had in his own bed.

Ingrid's unique text ringtone tore through his reverie.

"Fuck," he grunted and sat up. "You still didn't change that annoying frog? What are you giggling at?"

Ingrid bit her lip and showed him. "Dale has discovered the wonders of Snapchat filters."

A lump of ice dropped to the pit of his stomach. "Dale?" Oskar barely murmured.

"Yeah, the British kid who studies Russian, remember?"

"Leave him alone, Ingrid." Oskar crawled to the edge of the bed. "Before you break him," he added more to himself.

"What was that?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, but looked down at his knees before she met his eyes. "I said to leave him alone before you break him."

Ingrid let out a snort of laughter. "Seriously? What on earth would make you say that?"

"Personal experience."

She raised an eyebrow at his back. "The hell? You're saying I broke you?"

"Yes," Oskar said abruptly and stood up. "And I still haven't managed to put myself back together."

There was a pensive pause as Ingrid frowned at the bright crimson marks she'd left on his skin. Oskar began to gather his things from the floor.

"What are you doing here, then?" she asked.

"I just told you. I haven't been able to put myself together yet." He went into the bathroom without looking back at her.

Oskar locked the door and stepped under the shower. He turned the water to hot, although he still felt the scratches pulse raw on his back. A self-castigation of sorts for the weakness he continued to show when it came to Ingrid.

The steaming water seared his exposed flesh. He clenched his teeth hard, but he couldn't take it for long. He flipped the shower faucet off and pressed his back to the cold tiles. A pained hiss escaped from his lips as he slid down into the tub. The now-warm water trickled past his feet into the drain.

Crouched against the wall of the tub, Oskar grabbed fistfuls of his wet hair and wailed. It was more than weakness. It was dependency. Addiction, even. He sought her approval with every fibre of his being and the world didn't feel right if he couldn't get it. If he did get it, realisation of his own idiocy would hit him next and make him hate himself... and cry in a bathtub.

Her bathtub.

The mere thought of Ingrid coming undone in his arms made him feel at once sick and excited. He wanted both to have that over and over, and to never hold her again. Pain and pleasure clashed in the depths of his chest, causing it to ache.

When Oskar finally came out of the bathroom, he found the bedroom empty and headed for the kitchen. Ingrid was making American pancakes, which she must have known were one of his personal favourites. The smell opened the flashback floodgate. Memories overwhelmed him, good and bad, but one in particular stood out.