Status: heartbroken.
When You Are Not the Starring Role In Someone Else's Heart
"Oh my God; that was amazing," I gasped. His hands grazed my hips, down my leg, and back up to my shoulder. His finger delicately traced designs up and down my body, leaving goosebumps down my spine.
"Sure was," he smiled. That infamous crooked half-smile he gives me that shakes me to my very core. And then just as quickly as it appeared his smile faded and his eyebrows furrowed. He took his hands off me and exclaimed, "Shit! What time is it?!"
"It's only eleven, why?" I asked, looking confused. He went to turn the light on and I instinctively wrapped the sheet around my body, being the insecure mess I am. Not again.
"Don't tell me you gotta get to work again," I sighed. The same old crap every week. We meet up. Get tipsy. Get drunk. Fuck. And then he suddenly has to leave. Either he has to work the night shift or his mother showed up on his doorstep and he has to look after her or he has an appointment. Who the hell has a doctor's appointment at midnight?! I'm not fucking stupid.
"Sorry, babe. I have... to get home. I have work early in the morning," he said, looking for his shirt on the floor.
"Well, I have the alarm set if you wanna stay," I said, challenging him.
"No, no. Thanks, but the office is a lot closer to my apartment. And I don't like to get out of routine," he said slowly, as if.. hmm... I don't know.. he was making up his story as he went along. He was still scouring the floor, looking for the clothes that were just ripped off his body not too long ago. That hurt me, knowing he doesn't like me enough to stay the night. He doesn't like me enough to go out in public with me. He doesn't bring me back to his apartment. We're always at my place. I don't call him; he calls me. I'm the bootycall when he can't get laid, basically.
"Okay, whatever," I sighed, shrugging back underneath the covers. He hovers over the bed and looks at me. He almost looks as if he's contemplating. Staying?
"Don't 'whatever' me, . I'm serious. I'll call you in the morning, okay?" He kissed my forehead and hurried towards the bedroom door. My heart sank. Of course. He doesn't wanna stay with me. And I bet you he won't call in the morning. He'll call me a week from now. Maybe two. And ask me to drop everything I'm doing and let him up to my apartment. He'll bring wine. Maybe some rum when he's already been drinking. And we'll drink and fool around and eventually make our way to the bedroom for an hour. And then he'll leave. And the process repeats. Over and over and over again.
I don't want to keep being his little whore. Trust me, this is the first time I've ever done anything like this. I've never been the other woman. But, I love him. You don't understand--- I love this man. I am head over heels in love with him. I love the way he talks, the way he smells, the way he touches me. But, he'll never love me, no matter what he says to get into my bed. I really have to face facts; I'm just a supporting role in his heart, while he's looking for the star of his show.
"Sure was," he smiled. That infamous crooked half-smile he gives me that shakes me to my very core. And then just as quickly as it appeared his smile faded and his eyebrows furrowed. He took his hands off me and exclaimed, "Shit! What time is it?!"
"It's only eleven, why?" I asked, looking confused. He went to turn the light on and I instinctively wrapped the sheet around my body, being the insecure mess I am. Not again.
"Don't tell me you gotta get to work again," I sighed. The same old crap every week. We meet up. Get tipsy. Get drunk. Fuck. And then he suddenly has to leave. Either he has to work the night shift or his mother showed up on his doorstep and he has to look after her or he has an appointment. Who the hell has a doctor's appointment at midnight?! I'm not fucking stupid.
"Sorry, babe. I have... to get home. I have work early in the morning," he said, looking for his shirt on the floor.
"Well, I have the alarm set if you wanna stay," I said, challenging him.
"No, no. Thanks, but the office is a lot closer to my apartment. And I don't like to get out of routine," he said slowly, as if.. hmm... I don't know.. he was making up his story as he went along. He was still scouring the floor, looking for the clothes that were just ripped off his body not too long ago. That hurt me, knowing he doesn't like me enough to stay the night. He doesn't like me enough to go out in public with me. He doesn't bring me back to his apartment. We're always at my place. I don't call him; he calls me. I'm the bootycall when he can't get laid, basically.
"Okay, whatever," I sighed, shrugging back underneath the covers. He hovers over the bed and looks at me. He almost looks as if he's contemplating. Staying?
"Don't 'whatever' me, . I'm serious. I'll call you in the morning, okay?" He kissed my forehead and hurried towards the bedroom door. My heart sank. Of course. He doesn't wanna stay with me. And I bet you he won't call in the morning. He'll call me a week from now. Maybe two. And ask me to drop everything I'm doing and let him up to my apartment. He'll bring wine. Maybe some rum when he's already been drinking. And we'll drink and fool around and eventually make our way to the bedroom for an hour. And then he'll leave. And the process repeats. Over and over and over again.
I don't want to keep being his little whore. Trust me, this is the first time I've ever done anything like this. I've never been the other woman. But, I love him. You don't understand--- I love this man. I am head over heels in love with him. I love the way he talks, the way he smells, the way he touches me. But, he'll never love me, no matter what he says to get into my bed. I really have to face facts; I'm just a supporting role in his heart, while he's looking for the star of his show.