Far Away From Here

My Own Worst Enemy

Having no intention of stopping him or myself, I grab onto this black, long sleeve trying to pull him as close as possible to me. Everything he is doing is slow and sensual, I take a moment to allow my breath to form in sync with his shallow ones. He pulls away from my neck for a moment, his lips lingering over the heated skin. My fingernails trace up his arms, lightly digging into the back of his neck. His short hair tickling my knuckles. I can feel his hands trailing down my waist, rustling against the fabric of my flannel. Before I could regret it, I scooped my hand around his neck guiding his lips to mine. He paused staggered by my sudden burst of confidence but eagerly accepting my invitation. His damp lips caress my own with deliberate but slothful motions, taking his time to indulge and explore every inch of my mouth.

He relaxes into me, my body completely using the door behind me as support now. I dig my hands into his hair, pushing him as close as possible to me- hoping we could just form as one.My nerves flutter in the pit of my stomach as I feel his hand reach underneath me. I stop my movements, almost entering flight or fight mode as his hands grab onto my thighs. He continues to request me to play, by kissing my plump bottom lip. As he picks me up in one swift motion, moving me a few inches to the metal slab that stands as a centerpiece for the room.

Once seated, the cold metal burning my skin through my tights, he begins to lean me back with him shortly following in suit. As I lied there excepting whatever he wants to do with me. I begin to gain nervous wondering if he was planning on fucking me.

I wanted nothing more than to have sex with Louis, but was I ready to have it in a room with no lock and Bush or Joe thirty feet away. Noticing my hesitation, he halts backing away from my face marginally. "Don't go all shy on me now, sweet girl." He caresses my cheek, his eyes hooded over in what appeared to be a trance.

"I'm not I- nevermind let's do this."

"Do this?" he asked with a sly open mouth smile with a hint of confusion."I mean, I am ready for you to fuck me." I slightly cringed at the crudity in my language. In response, he looks at me flabbergasted.

"Did you think I wanted to fuck you?" His choice of words made my stomach flip theatrically. I was so stupid, of course, he did not want to have sex with me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I- I thought that is what was happening here."

"No, it wasn't." my face grew instantly red and I looked down at my swinging feet wondering how hard I would have to pray for the ground to swallow me whole. Instantly noticing my mortification, his right pointer finger and thumb swooped under my chin grasping it tightly. "No, don't get in that little head of yours. I want to have sex with you. God, baby I cannot think of anything else I want to do more. What I meant was the first time we have sex, will not be somewhere like this. You deserve so much better."

That night I stood in the shower for far too long. I allowed the water to pour down, reaching every inch of my body, accepting the scolding water to pierce my skin. I imagined the burning of the water as Louis' heated lips and when I was soaking my body with soap, I envisioned Louis' hand caressing my body. In a moment of peace, I opened my mouth letting the gushing of water to fill my mouth up, clanking against my teeth; it began to overflow, flowing over my cheeks; mixing in with the other water droplets coming from above me.

After a good thirty minutes, I decided my utility bill had already taken a generous beating and reluctantly got out. I wrapped the flimsy white towel around my body before standing in front of the large mirror that stood above our bathroom sink. Leaning over, I wiped the condensation away. The large streak allowing me to see myself. I try on the daily not to overanalyze myself in the mirror. I could stay there for hours degrading myself for what looked back at me. I used to do that back in secondary school, I would stay in my washroom for hours at night, taunting each characteristic I held. Being your own worst enemy is challenging to overcome. Could I ever overcome this? Or would I stay this way forever, never liking what I see.

I've tried the diets and the personal trainers but even at my lowest weight, I hated what I saw. I'm afraid that even if I lost fifty pounds, I still would not be satisfied with what reflected back to me. With one hand grasping my towel to stay upright, my other hand pinched one of my full cheeks. My face wasn't too bad I sported my mother's slender nose and plump lips. My father's eye shape and had almost identical freckles spraying across my nose delicately. My parents were both good-looking people, and when I was a child I used to love sneaking into my father's study and grabbing the photo albums that were stored there. My favorite was the one labeled 1970-1976, my parents were right around my age and everything I wished to be. My mother, petite and slim. Golden blonde hair bright and lavish in every photo. My father tall, lean and dominated most photos with his looks and aura. I used to envision myself in their stories. Creating scenarios of what it will be like when I am their age, attending parties like them. Smiling in every photo with a plethora of mates around them. I asked my father one time who these people were, thinking maybe some of them represented their current friend group but my dad couldn't tell me one person in any of the photos. I envied that for some sick reason, at the time and sometimes secretly know, I wish I had so many nameless, disposable friends. Just a page in my story who I could have a good time with for a short while and then move on to the next.What I enjoyed most about the photos was that they looked like they had all the time in the world. My parents know are always rushing, always trying to accomplish something to impress someone. Their anguish on time now cultivated my childhood, knitting their worse habits into my personality.

However, when I look in the mirror. I do not see someone that would even have a place in those photos. I would be the girl taking the photos. Invited to the party but not included. I was invisible, more than invisible- I was forgettable; but with Louis, I felt beautiful. I hated thinking that I wanted to feel beautiful and confident all the time- not just with a guy. For right now though, this was good enough.

Though I could not help but wonder am I part of the party in Louis' life or was I a disposable page that was there for a good time before moving on to the next?