I Never Want to Leave This Bed
Thirteen
His lips firmly pressed against mine, both hands firmly grasped my hips as he roughly pushed me against the wall. As I collided with the wall, a framed picture fell from the wall and hit the floor. Glass shattered at our feet, shooting across the floor. Jonathan didn’t care, he pulled me further into his embrace. His lips tore from my mouth and made a beeline for my neck, nipping and biting just the way I liked.
Gasping for air, I looked down at the broken picture frame. It was a picture of him and the dark haired girl; they were smiling at an awards show holding hands. A gross sick feeling dropped in my stomach, making Jonathan’s delicious kisses feel vile. I pulled my hands from around his neck and pressed them against his chest. With all the strength I had, I pushed him off.
“Get off of me.” I whined. The force it took to push him off sent me tumbling onto the floor. Setting amongst the scattered glass, I shakily pulled apart the picture frame and held up the battered picture.
“She deserves better!” I shouted hoarsely, tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t even know this girl but I knew I never wanted a man who sleazed his way around with skanky, blonde, flight attendants.
“You don’t even know her!” He shouted back, bending over so he could look me deep in the eye. Violently, he snatched the picture away. For a moment he looked at the picture, taking it and walking back to the couch. He sat and stared at the picture before ripping it up, flicking his wrist and letting the shreds float to the floor. I just sat in the glass heap and sobbed, alcohol sometimes had this effect on me.
“She takes me for granted; she goes out and gets trashed while I’m off filming. She ends up with other men, men half my worth. Our relationship never works but still we try. It’s over but that doesn’t mean we still don’t try to revive it. You wouldn’t understand.” He said after an eternity of silence, his voice was cold and remote. With one fluid movement he was back at the bar, though this time he didn’t take the time to make a drink.
Jonathan walked over to me, bottle of Bourbon in hand. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Placing the bottle to his lips he took a large swig before opening his mouth to speak. He thought then closed his mouth, saying nothing.
“You’re going to make yourself sick.” I said softly, my voice still shaking. It was a common known fact that you shouldn’t mix your darks and lights. He turned to look at me; his gaze was vacant and cold.
“I’m an alcoholic, sweetie; it’s too late for me.” He replied monotonously, looking down at the half filled bottle. The caramel colored liquid sloshing around as he put the bottle to his lips again.
“Why?” I asked, instantly regretting it. Who asks a stupid question like that? Surprisingly, he didn’t get angry as he had before.
“Why does anyone become an alcoholic? Grief from death, stress at work, trouble with the misses, you name it.” He replied, letting a sad sigh slip from his lips. Slipping his hand in his pocket he pulled a cigarette from his pack and placed it between his lips. Lighting it, he tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Well I don’t want to be involved.”I said softly, my voice drained from the previous episode. Slowly, I tried to pick myself up again. Once on my feet I looked down at him and watched his take another slurp of his drink. Chewing on my lip, I turned and walked to the door. As I placed my fingers on the cold knob he spoke.
“You already are.” He murmured, I turned back and saw him staring up at me. His blue eyes were piercing, sending a chill of my spine. Shaking my head, I turned away and left his apartment.
Gasping for air, I looked down at the broken picture frame. It was a picture of him and the dark haired girl; they were smiling at an awards show holding hands. A gross sick feeling dropped in my stomach, making Jonathan’s delicious kisses feel vile. I pulled my hands from around his neck and pressed them against his chest. With all the strength I had, I pushed him off.
“Get off of me.” I whined. The force it took to push him off sent me tumbling onto the floor. Setting amongst the scattered glass, I shakily pulled apart the picture frame and held up the battered picture.
“She deserves better!” I shouted hoarsely, tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t even know this girl but I knew I never wanted a man who sleazed his way around with skanky, blonde, flight attendants.
“You don’t even know her!” He shouted back, bending over so he could look me deep in the eye. Violently, he snatched the picture away. For a moment he looked at the picture, taking it and walking back to the couch. He sat and stared at the picture before ripping it up, flicking his wrist and letting the shreds float to the floor. I just sat in the glass heap and sobbed, alcohol sometimes had this effect on me.
“She takes me for granted; she goes out and gets trashed while I’m off filming. She ends up with other men, men half my worth. Our relationship never works but still we try. It’s over but that doesn’t mean we still don’t try to revive it. You wouldn’t understand.” He said after an eternity of silence, his voice was cold and remote. With one fluid movement he was back at the bar, though this time he didn’t take the time to make a drink.
Jonathan walked over to me, bottle of Bourbon in hand. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Placing the bottle to his lips he took a large swig before opening his mouth to speak. He thought then closed his mouth, saying nothing.
“You’re going to make yourself sick.” I said softly, my voice still shaking. It was a common known fact that you shouldn’t mix your darks and lights. He turned to look at me; his gaze was vacant and cold.
“I’m an alcoholic, sweetie; it’s too late for me.” He replied monotonously, looking down at the half filled bottle. The caramel colored liquid sloshing around as he put the bottle to his lips again.
“Why?” I asked, instantly regretting it. Who asks a stupid question like that? Surprisingly, he didn’t get angry as he had before.
“Why does anyone become an alcoholic? Grief from death, stress at work, trouble with the misses, you name it.” He replied, letting a sad sigh slip from his lips. Slipping his hand in his pocket he pulled a cigarette from his pack and placed it between his lips. Lighting it, he tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Well I don’t want to be involved.”I said softly, my voice drained from the previous episode. Slowly, I tried to pick myself up again. Once on my feet I looked down at him and watched his take another slurp of his drink. Chewing on my lip, I turned and walked to the door. As I placed my fingers on the cold knob he spoke.
“You already are.” He murmured, I turned back and saw him staring up at me. His blue eyes were piercing, sending a chill of my spine. Shaking my head, I turned away and left his apartment.