Tales of Disappointment

A cigarette burns steadily and ashes meet the bed sheets as a silence coats the room in thicker layers than the smoke. A girl, covering herself and searching frantically for her clothes prepares to take the walk of shame. It shouldn’t be anything new for her, though; her existence was a walk of shame. Her head was always hanging low, scowling at the ground.

The boy littering the bed sheets with his cigarettes stared after her, pity and other similar emotions forming a hurricane in his heart. He’d always loved her, you see. They grew up together and had gone to school with one another up until the time they’d graduated a couple of years ago. Somehow they’d met back up at a party.

As soon as he’d first saw her, drinking straight out of the bottle and making eyes at every guy who looked at her, he knew she’d fuck like a whore. And somehow, even though he’d cared for her more than that when they were in high school, that’d be enough. She was still pilfering around the room and his eyes took in her body again.

Smooth thighs that were just meant for cheeks to graze were what caught his attention first. She’d managed to find her leather skirt and it hugged those dangerous thighs in all the right places. Her knees were bruised this morning from how hard he’d pushed her down in their drunken stupor. As she pulled on her cropped t-shirt of some band she probably didn’t even know one song by, he tore his eyes away from her and looked around the room. He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

Lipstick and foundation stained the pillow that lay next to him; it must’ve come off when he’d buried her face in the pillow last night. He couldn’t look at her while he was having his way with her, it would have meant something then. He couldn’t look into those big brown eyes that he’d fallen so hard over all those years ago.

Looking at the walls, he noticed that some pictures had fallen to the floor. They’d fallen when he’d slammed her back up against the wall. The sound of breaking glass echoed in his mind as he recalled the memory.

“I’m leaving now. Thanks for the wild ride,” she said cheekily as she re-applied that damn bubble gum pink lipstick she always wore. He didn’t say a word, just nodded in her direction, lighting up another cigarette even though he didn’t want it. He just needed something to occupy himself before he said something stupid.

And as she opened the door and made her way out, he accepted that he’d taken another step too late. In this case, he’d taken no steps at all. He’d let her go, again. He’d never told her how he felt, but he couldn’t take another disappointment.

Instead of going after her while he still could, he simply took another drag off of his cigarette and mumbled under his breath, “Fucking bitch.”