The Art of Sharing Lovers
this isn't a last goodnight
She laid in the arms of her Supposed Lover. With the curtains wide open, the pair confessed their 'love' to the moon. The Supposed Lover was sleeping peacefully, his toned, tattooed chest rising and falling with each steady breath he took, his fragile eyelids fluttered as he stirred, shifting slightly as the worn mattress creaked beneath him.
She was a different sight, quite the opposite in fact. Her eyelids were open, her brown eyes glaring at the ceiling as thoughts raced through her mind at the speed of light. Her mind was elsewhere. It certainly wasn't in the bed beside her Supposed Lover. It was away, lying beside her Actual Lover, the man she adored.
She laid there, with the Supposed Lover's arm around her waist, his calloused fingers gently grazing her bare skin. No goosebumps formed at his touch, no butterflies erupted in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of him. Nothing. Every word, every kiss, every moan, it was all a lie. Her love life was built upon a mountain of lies, and the only way down was to destroy that mountain. She needed to crack it, hack at it, until all that was left was rubble. Rubble that would be a burden to the Supposed Lover and give her a clean break.
She longed for the Actual Lover. To be laid in his arms, to inhale his intoxicating scent. She wanted to be put under his spell, with no hope of ever coming out of it. She wanted her addiction of him to be satisfied on a daily basis. Sneaking around had never been her style. She longed to kiss him in front of other people, to feel his tongue dancing alongside hers, to have his calloused hands roaming her body, the pair of them pressed against each other. Just the thought of those heavenly things made her want to jump out of bed and run. Run to him. The Actual Lover.
She wanted this. No, she needed this. She needed to be with the reckless boy, the Actual Lover. The one who she made love to, the one she felt passion with, the one she could have an adventure with. She knew what her mother would say about the Actual Lover, she'd go on about how he'd leave when he got bored. But that was a risk she was willing to take. If he left, he left. If he stuck around, she'd be more than happy to stay with him.
Rolling out of bed in one swift movement was the easy part. She gathered up her clothes that had been torn off only hours before, gently padding into the bathroom. She dressed herself under the cover of the night sky, the stars lighting the way for her as she slipped out of the house. Once outside, she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, down streets, around corners, almost bumping into a homeless man on her way.
It wasn't long before she reached that familiar house. A wave of comfort washed over her as she tapped on the front door, stepping back to look up at the exterior of the building. It looked so normal, it was strange something so inanimate could mean so much. She glanced at the front window, a couple of burning candles illuminated the dull front room. Two silhouettes appeared, and it was those two shapes that broke her heart in two. The Actual Lover was with someone else. Kissing her, caressing her, whispering false promises. The same act he'd performed all his life.
She could hear her mother's voice ringing inside her head. 'I told you so'.
With tears in her eyes, she ran. She ran back to her safe haven. A bubble of security. Yes, the Supposed Lover lacked passion, he wasn't reckless, life with him wasn't exciting, but he was safe and secure. He could give her things the Actual Lover couldn't even dream of giving her. But that worked both ways. If only the Supposed Lover and the Actual Lover could become the same person, she thought as she wiped her tears away, dejectedly heading for where it all began.
She stripped herself and slipped back into bed. The Supposed Lover was ever the same. His chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his eyelids concealing his pretty eyes from the world. She leaned over, tracing the lettering on his chest, the gentle movements making him wake up.
The Supposed Lover looked at her, his eyes holding nothing but love and adoration. She tried her best to mirror his expression, as he leaned up and kissed her sweetly. "I love you, baby." His voice was soft, thick with sleep, yet it was so sincere.
She breathed in deeply, laying her head down against his chest, letting his dull heartbeat lull her to sleep. "I love you, too."
And as she fell into a deep slumber, she hoped that one day, the Supposed Lover would become the Actual Lover.
She was a different sight, quite the opposite in fact. Her eyelids were open, her brown eyes glaring at the ceiling as thoughts raced through her mind at the speed of light. Her mind was elsewhere. It certainly wasn't in the bed beside her Supposed Lover. It was away, lying beside her Actual Lover, the man she adored.
She laid there, with the Supposed Lover's arm around her waist, his calloused fingers gently grazing her bare skin. No goosebumps formed at his touch, no butterflies erupted in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of him. Nothing. Every word, every kiss, every moan, it was all a lie. Her love life was built upon a mountain of lies, and the only way down was to destroy that mountain. She needed to crack it, hack at it, until all that was left was rubble. Rubble that would be a burden to the Supposed Lover and give her a clean break.
She longed for the Actual Lover. To be laid in his arms, to inhale his intoxicating scent. She wanted to be put under his spell, with no hope of ever coming out of it. She wanted her addiction of him to be satisfied on a daily basis. Sneaking around had never been her style. She longed to kiss him in front of other people, to feel his tongue dancing alongside hers, to have his calloused hands roaming her body, the pair of them pressed against each other. Just the thought of those heavenly things made her want to jump out of bed and run. Run to him. The Actual Lover.
She wanted this. No, she needed this. She needed to be with the reckless boy, the Actual Lover. The one who she made love to, the one she felt passion with, the one she could have an adventure with. She knew what her mother would say about the Actual Lover, she'd go on about how he'd leave when he got bored. But that was a risk she was willing to take. If he left, he left. If he stuck around, she'd be more than happy to stay with him.
Rolling out of bed in one swift movement was the easy part. She gathered up her clothes that had been torn off only hours before, gently padding into the bathroom. She dressed herself under the cover of the night sky, the stars lighting the way for her as she slipped out of the house. Once outside, she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, down streets, around corners, almost bumping into a homeless man on her way.
It wasn't long before she reached that familiar house. A wave of comfort washed over her as she tapped on the front door, stepping back to look up at the exterior of the building. It looked so normal, it was strange something so inanimate could mean so much. She glanced at the front window, a couple of burning candles illuminated the dull front room. Two silhouettes appeared, and it was those two shapes that broke her heart in two. The Actual Lover was with someone else. Kissing her, caressing her, whispering false promises. The same act he'd performed all his life.
She could hear her mother's voice ringing inside her head. 'I told you so'.
With tears in her eyes, she ran. She ran back to her safe haven. A bubble of security. Yes, the Supposed Lover lacked passion, he wasn't reckless, life with him wasn't exciting, but he was safe and secure. He could give her things the Actual Lover couldn't even dream of giving her. But that worked both ways. If only the Supposed Lover and the Actual Lover could become the same person, she thought as she wiped her tears away, dejectedly heading for where it all began.
She stripped herself and slipped back into bed. The Supposed Lover was ever the same. His chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his eyelids concealing his pretty eyes from the world. She leaned over, tracing the lettering on his chest, the gentle movements making him wake up.
The Supposed Lover looked at her, his eyes holding nothing but love and adoration. She tried her best to mirror his expression, as he leaned up and kissed her sweetly. "I love you, baby." His voice was soft, thick with sleep, yet it was so sincere.
She breathed in deeply, laying her head down against his chest, letting his dull heartbeat lull her to sleep. "I love you, too."
And as she fell into a deep slumber, she hoped that one day, the Supposed Lover would become the Actual Lover.
♠ ♠ ♠
I don't know if this makes that much sense, but it's been stuck in my head for days, so I felt I should get it out somewhere.I'm not sure what you imagined, but when I wrote this I thought of the Supposed Lover as John O'Callaghan and the Actual Lover as Alex Gaskarth.