Five

One And Only.

And he would scoop me up in a big bear hug every time he came through the door. His smell lingered of faint cigarettes, but, hell. He was so warm. Then he would pull his head away from the crook of my neck and look down with eyes of glassy brown, feathered with sweet, dark eyelashes. And then he would grin without opening his mouth. And his thin laugh lines would appear and rest by his cheeks. And then that boy'd kiss me.

And it would always be so late at night. Everyone would be asleep, so we whispered a lot. His whisper was soft, raspy, and always close to my ear. Sometimes, I could even feel the rough ends of his lips nipping my ear. And then I would shiver, and his arms would squeeze my stomach tighter as he pulled me down into his lap on the beat up sofa. We never switched on the TV, because the street lamp across the street was enough.

And sometimes in the winter, he'd come home awfully late and it'd be so cold outside. And I would be bundled up on that same sofa. He would rush through the door and quickly shut it behind him, running a hand through his messy brown hair looking distressed. Then I would catch his eye and he would smile. His leather jacket slipped off his shoulders, and his sneakers were thrown to the side as he’d walk past me and crouch down in front of the fire place. Striking a match and poking the flames five times for good luck, he looked over his shoulder with rusty eyes. And grinned without opening his mouth.

And then he would snake up onto the sofa with me. his legs on either side of my waist. It was never sexual; just sweet. And then slowly he would crane his neck and leave four kisses along my jawline and one on my mouth.

And then there were those times when he'd shuffle through the door after being gone for far too long. Then I would catch his eye and he'd run a hand through his messy brown hair, looking distressed. He shot me a look that would ache with despair. “Fuck,” he’d mumble under his breath as he tugged off his jacket and threw his boots to the side. I’d watch him as he made his way toward me, head hung low.

And then he would sit on the edge of the sofa, and gently push my hair back. Then he would gaze at the tears on my cheeks and bite his lip regretfully. And he’d lean down and kiss my right cheek twice. And pull his head back to look at me and my bloodshot eyes. Then he’d pull back down again and twice he’d kiss my left cheek. My cheeks weren’t damp anymore.

And then that’d boy crawl on top of me and lace his rough hands through my fingers. “Babe,” he’d whimper hoarsely and he‘d bring his lips down so that they would linger desperately above my mouth. And then he would breathe out. And I would breathe him in. Then he’d squeeze my hands tighter and crane his next once more and silently kiss my forehead.

And now this is the time where I stayed on the sofa for the whole night and watched the door. Waiting to see him run his hand through his messy brown hair. But he never came through the threshold. And then I fell asleep to try and make everything go away. And I did a damn good job, because when I woke up, I saw a faded piece of yellow paper on the coffee table. And then I would open it and see five words.

Promise you’ll wait for me.