messy sketchbooks

bathtubs and invitations

"what?" 

"are you ashamed of me?" 

"why would you think that?"

his voice was becoming more harsh with each backhand your voice gave to him, he was clenching his fists, grabbing at the sheets, you were scared but you had to know why the secrecy. 

"because-" 

you got cut off. how would you word the way he made you feel? the way in which you felt like the only woman he had ever locked eyes onto, the way his body when brushing up against yours made your nerves ignite in sparks of lust. how he made you feel wanted. seen. 

but at the same time, made you feel numb and cold. you were there for his pleasure alone, and left to wipe away his marks after he was done using you. a simple 'sorry' had you running back into those conflicting arms. your tongue eager for his, no matter the consequences. 

your hesitation was getting the better of you. 

he got out of the bed, agitated that it was taking you far too long to tell him your troubles, he was reaching for the door handle before the vowels finally left your lips. not letting him leave you again without him hearing the way in which your heart was breaking with every hum of your words. 

"because, you treat me like shit."

his hand tightened on the handle, chin turning over his shoulder, his eyes faced on the wall, not wanting to look at the way you were desperate for some flicker of his humanity. 

"you- you make me insane. one minute you can't keep your hands off me, buy me nice gifts, cook me fucking dinner, fuck me like no one could ever fuck me. but then you seem to not even acknowledge my presence unless we are in the privacy of four fucking walls. takeouts, locked doors. are you ashamed of people seeing me with you? because- because" 

"just say it" 

his tone was faltering, tension was building behind his words, he was trying to suppress the anger that was clearly getting the better of him. 

"because i'm a fucking stripper?"

he turned to you, his body inhaling aggressively, staring you down. tears started to form and brim, trying to control your emotions was impossible. he didn't even have to reply, his face said it all. the way his brows furrowed, the way he said yes without speaking one letter. his head tilted, looking confused at your outburst of melancholy. you clutched the sheets, acting them as a tissue, tears dampened the cream satin, leaving patches of sorrow sprawled across were you lay. he didn't move to comfort you, just watched as your limbs gave way, giving yourself into the embarrassment and guilt of not being good enough for him. 

"no-" 

he spoke finally. you raised your head, eyes red and puffy, nose running, combining that with the sex that was left over your appearance, you knew your exterior wasn't the most attractive he had seen it in. he moved slowly, perching on the end of the sheet, his large palm caressing the sheets fabric. head not looking at you, only staring down as if what he was about to tell you was too sensitive for his hazel irises to even attempt to gaze into yours. 

"i - i want you to come with me." 

a state of shock reigned over your dazed face. 

"w-where?"

"the stupid christmas party that the tux is for. if you feel so strongly that i never take you out, then come with me" 

"but-" 

you hesitated at his offer or lack of. emotions running rampid in your mind. he didn't answer your question fully, just gave you a 'get out of jail free' card to stop pestering him with your neediness.