More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

43

forty three

I've always pictured it.

What sex was like.

Passion, connection, steam, lust, love, care, patience, euphoria.

No one ever tells you how painfully awkward it is. How uncomfortable. Sticky. Chaotic.

At least, the first time.

The first time tends to be the most amusing. In another frame of mind, maybe I would be able to laugh at the way Silas fought to take his clothes off. Or the way the condom struggled to slip on, like arms through a shrunken sweater. We even somehow managed to knock down the curtains, the lace and rods hitting the floor as he slung me around like a damn rag doll.

Penises look weird, by the way. I've never seen one in person and it almost made me want to turn the light off. Maybe if I wasn't so brutally torn apart on the inside I would be able to muster the energy and strength to do so. But I don't. I watch, strangely placed on the bed, wondering what the hell I'm even doing.

I nearly laugh. Laugh manically while tears stream down my face. Maybe that would scare him off and I wouldn't have to fight with my mind as to whether I wanted this. What am I doing? This is my first time. My first time should be with him.

That's what he wanted though, wasn't it? To get me into bed at some point. That was his initial motive, at least. A useless item waiting to be pawned. That's what I was seen as. So there was virtually no point in trying to find a reason to care about the fact that it's not Harry lying on top of me but Silas.

What am I doing?

"S-slower, please," I huff out, chin resting on his shoulder as his face is buried into my neck, my wandering fingertips gripping the skin of his back. I see our shadows lurking on the walls beneath the burnt orange pigment of the bedside lamp; the outline of our bodies an image I don't wish to relish on. With an internal sigh, I lean over and tug down on the dangling string, shutting the light off.

"Why'd you do that? I want to see you." Silas breathes out and I cringe horribly. The pit of my stomach is flared with fire ants, eating away at this emotional decision I have made.

I would never have suspected this is where Silas and I would be tonight. Him thrusting into me while I bite down on my lip to ease the absolute discomfort and ache; my mind ten layers of discombobulated thoughts that contradict the next.

"You can't really see me with your face in my neck anyhow," I whisper, so solemn that I couldn't even hide my tone of disappointment. What am I doing?

"What's up with you?" He stops, pulling away and I know he's looking down at me because I vaguely catch sight of the chocolate waves falling down. His silhouette resembles Harry, curved and full. And for a brief moment, all I want to do is press him into my chest and listen to him say how much he loves me while he makes love to me.

But he isn't Harry. The Harry I knew was never truly known. A figment of my imagination.

"I'm fine," I say, giving a smile even though he can't see. Maybe if the light were on, he would be convinced that I was. But my voice spoke the truth that my face refused to reveal.

"You're not into me, are you? You only went through with this because you're pissed at Ez and this is your way of coping."

His voice is deeper, more aggressive than before. I was so glad he came to this conclusion because he found his way out of me and off the bed. Although I didn't have enough energy to sustain a confrontation at the moment. So I sit in silence, tugging the blanket to my chest and sitting up. My back is killing me even more now. Has it been two days? I don't know. I should have listened to the doctor's orders.