Sweetie, You Had Me

She stumbled through the door to her bedroom, drunk and high off of sex with another stranger. One could say that she was addicted to the way an orgasm felt, to her it was better than any drug available. She carried her five inch high heeled shoes in her hands, having not been able to walk in them with all the alcohol that blurred and numbed her senses. Her dress, which was now stained with liquor and cum, was torn and hung loosely on her lithe frame. Lipstick and eye-shadow were smeared all over her face, her mahogany hair fuzzed all over her head, matted together from too many cum shots.

What she didn't notice was the man sitting on the small couch in the bedroom. Didn't notice the flame of amusement that burned so deep in those russet eyes or the smirk permanently branded onto his bubble gum pink lips. It wasn't until a laugh tinkled from his lips when she fell into the dresser and hit her head off the mirror did she even notice his presence. Her eyes grew wide with horror and she dropped her shoes, putting her hands behind her back trying to feign innocence. She looked like a child who had just got caught stealing cookies before dinner.

"Don't give me that look," he said, shaking his head, causing bangs to fall in his laughter filled eyes. His legs were crossed in front of him, his arms spread out lazily along the back of the couch. He had been there for hours, home from tour to surprise her with all of the information he had picked up. She didn't have a clue that he knew what she had been up to while he was gone. Didn't think he knew about the lies, the sins, the betrayal.

She seemed to sober up instantly, standing to her full height of five feet and some odd inches, trying to look like she wasn't fucked completely. Her appearance, still, made her look guiltier than if she had 'I'm a cheating, lying whore' written across her forehead. Brendon wasn't stupid, even if he hadn't been told by the people in town that his girlfriend was out fucking everything with a pulse, it would have been obvious now.

"I know what you've been up to, sweetie. And to think that you had me convinced for awhile that they were all lying. Darling, can I ask you something?" he declared, furrowing his eyebrows as if he were deep in thought. His voice was strained, but low and calm in the same sense.

Perspiration gathered on the back of her neck and a lump in her throat refused to allow her to speak, she could only nod. She was afraid. Afraid of what he was going to ask, afraid of what he was capable of doing, afraid of that sick tormented look in his eye. She was sobering up with every passing second. She swallowed as hard as she could, the sound audible in the silent room.

Brendon was on his feet and walking towards her, the amusement in his eyes still and the smirk growing wider on his face. Once he was about an inch in front of her, he leaned in and whispered in her ear "Is it still me that makes you sweat?" he could smell alcohol, cum, and cheap perfume radiating off of her. Then he saw the sweat on the back of her neck. Of course it was still him.

"Am I who you think about in bed?" he whispered, reaching up to brush her matted hair way from her ear so he didn't have to smell it. He grinned wickedly when he felt her nod, her chin brushing against his skin. Of course she did.

"What about when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress? Do you think about me then? Do you think of what you're doing to me?" he hissed, grabbing onto her shoulder and shaking her slightly. She nodded again, this time letting out what sounded like a whimper. He released her shoulder, bringing his hand back down to his side. Her skin felt scaly, dirty, and disgusting to him.

"What about when the lights are dim and your heart as racing as your fingers touch his skin? Is your heart racing from the thrill or the guilt of you know you're doing me wrong? Come on now, you're a big girl, up to the age of knowing what's right from wrong. But you like being bad, don't you?" he questioned, his voice becoming heated. His anger was spiking and hate was starting to boil under his skin, coursing through his veins were the blood should have been. He'd kept calm for too long, he was at a breaking point.

She nodded, whispering "It's always you," in a light, breathy tone that was almost too low to hear. Her lips trembled and her knees shook, threatening to buckle under her. She didn't like being in trouble, and this was the most she had been in in a long time. She had sworn to Brendon the last time that she wouldn't go behind his back again, but here they were.

"I've got more wit," he said, not having to explain seeing as how he was halfway around the world and had still out smarted her. "A better kiss," he said, forcing himself to kiss her with all that was in him. It took a lot of will power for him to not cringe and gag at the thought of were her mouth had been before this. "A hotter touch," he whispered, sliding his hand up her trembling thigh, causing her to shake violently underneath his hand. "A better fuck," he said laughing, refusing to show her that one anymore. "Than any boy you'll ever meet."

"Were was it that I last left off, tell me in case I lost my train of thought," he growled, still whispering in her ear and loving every second of the fear and guilt that radiated off her trembling body. He always got off on catching her in a lie. But before she could open her mouth he said "Oh now I do recall, we were just getting to the part where the shock sets in and the stomach acid finds a new way to make you get sick. I bet you're surprised to see me here, I bet you're surprised that I know about all the boys you've fucked behind my back. I bet you're feeling so sick you could die," he said, his voice rising from a whisper and cracking violently. He was ready to lose control.

She nodded again, wishing the lump in her throat would dissolve so she cold defend herself. But she was weak underneath his glare, powerless against his smirk, nothing underneath the truth of his words. She felt like the dirt on the ground the way he spoke to and looked at her now. And something deep in the pit of her stomach told her this would be the last time she saw him.

He kissed underneath her ear and said "Sweetie, you had me. You had me for four long years. Four years of you having me wrapped around your finger and cheating and lying the whole time. But it will always be me that you want, and this time I'm not coming home back when I storm out. You'll lie awake at night, still thinking about the way I used to touch you and trying to get that from someone else, but you'll never get it. Because it will always be me that drives you wild, the only one who can truly satisfy you. And now, I'm gone."

He turned to leave, not saying another word or throwing another amused glance in her direction. He'd turned his back on her for good, proud of himself that he'd had the last laugh this time. While he didn't need her, she would always need him. She stood shaking still in their bedroom, unable to believe that he was really gone this time. It made her sick to her stomach, the acid eating away at her insides and climbing up her throat to lap away at the lump that was denying her of her voice. What made her sick mostly, though, was the fact that he was right. It would always be him.