Parasitic

I was never that girl.

That girl who will have sex with a guy after a very short time of dating or even no dating at all.

Also known as whores.

My belief in love was odd: it is possible it exists and it is possible that it doesn’t. Either way, I don’t need it.

Even though love was something that was far-fetched for me, having sex after a month and a half of being in the relationship wasn’t something I did.

So why the hell am I laying next to a man I’m not even officially dating, naked and feeling whole?

Is this what love is like? That feeling of completeness that you only have when you’re with that person? Is it truly love or is it infatuation?

“What are you thinking about?” Brandon spoke, his voice rough and slightly accented.

I let out a laugh, “why are you asking?”

He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled, “you had that same look of concentration a baby gets right before they shit.”

“Shut the hell up, Brandon!” I yelled and pushed his shoulder lightly.

Brandon laughed, his light blue eyes sparkling as he pulled me closer, “did you know that you’re only the second woman I’ve spent the night with?”

“Who said I’m spending the night?”

He laughed again and I decided that it was my favorite facial expression of his. It beat out his crooked grin, sarcastic smirk, and lazy smiles.

“Kidding, kidding,” I relented and reached to the bottom of the bed to grab the quilt he kicked off in his rush.

“Are you actually cold?”

“No, Brandon. I’m grabbing the blankets because I’m hot,” I retorted sarcastically as I pulled the thick blankets up to my neck, “it is November in New York City. Give me a break.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re from Louisiana,” Brandon responded, “you hail a cab like a pro.”

“Most of the time I want to forget that I’m from Louisiana. That place was hell.”

“Why?”

I closed my eyes and wiggled a bit to get comfortable, “the damn bugs!”

**********

Two weeks after I stayed at Brandon’s apartment for the first time, I was becoming a common fixture.

Brandon had begun to refer to me as his girlfriend and I had started to talk to Ginny my boyfriend. She was a bit upset that I didn’t tell her sooner, but she quickly got over it and we were back to normal.

I drew little patterns on his bare chest as we laid on his bed and he began to stir. His eyes fluttered open and blue irises found my dark grey eyes.

“Good morning,” I greeted before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“What time is it?”

“About ten,” I responded and he stretched.

“Do you have class today?” Brandon asked and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah, but I’m probably going to skip,” I answered and snuggled closer to his side.

It isn’t like Brandon and I do a lot. We usually end up being lazy around his apartment, talking about cats.

We were both quiet for a few minutes and I thought that he had fallen back asleep, but he looked down to me.

“Do you want to go on a trip?” Brandon asked.

I giggled, “where to?”

“London.”

I sat up and looked at him, “when?”

He shrugged, “I could probably get tickets for today.”

Running off to London with a man I’ve been sort-of dating for two months didn’t seem like a good plan, but I couldn’t stand the thought of making him frown. Plus, a trip to a place I’ve dreamt about would be perfect.

“Yes!” I squealed.

I don’t know whether I’m going crazy or if I’m in love.

Both thoughts are equally terrifying.

**********

Two days in London and the city was beautiful. Apparently, this is where Brandon was born, but he did tourist-y things with me nonetheless.

I refused to go on the Eye, but everything else had been done. He even took me out so I could have my first proper fish and chips.

It was much better than the shit you get in America.

Opening the door to the bathroom, I walked into our hotel room with a towel wrapped around my wet hair and his button up shirt on my chest. His eyes roamed my body, focusing on my long and tan legs that were on show.

Brandon stood and walked towards me. I stared up at him and felt a drop of water escape a loose strand of hair. It fell on my collarbone and slid down between my cleavage. His oceanic eyes followed the water drop and my breathing sped up from the look on his face.

“You,” he spoke huskily while pulling the towel away from my hair, “are gorgeous.”

My heart skipped a beat at those words. No man had ever called me gorgeous before. I knew in that moment, that I was putty in his hands. He could do whatever he wished because of a few honeyed words.

He moved his gaze to meet my eyes and leaned close enough so our lips were brushing as we spoke, “I want to ask you something.”

“What?” I asked breathlessly.

“Will you move in with me?”