A Million Little Pieces
1/1
I was made up of a million little pieces.
Our lips had been fused since I’d first drunkenly kissed him at the bar, bored of our conversation, and pausing only for a brief moment as he asked, “My place or yours?” I was too far gone to care what kind of situation I was getting myself into. I didn’t have anyone telling me I was drunk, telling me to go home and beat it out before I got beat up. My own voice was drowning in all the shots I’d taken over the course of the night; it was almost nice for a change. This wasn’t who I was, and it was exciting.
We stumbled out of the cab and I found myself frighteningly sober all of a sudden as I stood in the fresh air waiting for him to punch in the key-code to his apartment complex. He pulled me in after him and pushed me against the hallway wall, smothering me, stimulating my interest that little bit more. I could hardly take it anymore as he ran his hands up my bare thighs and slid my dress up a few inches. My hands found his dishevelled hair and made it that much worse as his hands got higher until the stopped abruptly. His body seemed to fly across the hallway and splatter onto the opposite wall in shock.
“What’s that?” he asked softly, meekly pointing towards where I knew my erection to be forming a bulge beneath my tight dress as it bunched at my thighs. I didn’t say anything. My concentration was focused solely on not crying. I couldn’t cry; I didn’t want to imagine how the 2 hours of hard work I’d spent on my makeup in the bathroom would melt into such a mess. I was trying but I’d never felt so… rejected. I attempted to pull my dress down to cover my thighs, suddenly feeling more exposed than turned on, and waited for him to continue… but he didn’t. He blinked a few times before he stumbled over his own feet in the hall on the way to the stairwell, taking one look over his shoulder at me as he ascended up the first few steps.
I was made up of a million little pieces… but of all those pieces, I didn’t have the ones that would make him interested in me. I didn’t have those pieces that would make him even consider the notion.
Our lips had been fused since I’d first drunkenly kissed him at the bar, bored of our conversation, and pausing only for a brief moment as he asked, “My place or yours?” I was too far gone to care what kind of situation I was getting myself into. I didn’t have anyone telling me I was drunk, telling me to go home and beat it out before I got beat up. My own voice was drowning in all the shots I’d taken over the course of the night; it was almost nice for a change. This wasn’t who I was, and it was exciting.
We stumbled out of the cab and I found myself frighteningly sober all of a sudden as I stood in the fresh air waiting for him to punch in the key-code to his apartment complex. He pulled me in after him and pushed me against the hallway wall, smothering me, stimulating my interest that little bit more. I could hardly take it anymore as he ran his hands up my bare thighs and slid my dress up a few inches. My hands found his dishevelled hair and made it that much worse as his hands got higher until the stopped abruptly. His body seemed to fly across the hallway and splatter onto the opposite wall in shock.
“What’s that?” he asked softly, meekly pointing towards where I knew my erection to be forming a bulge beneath my tight dress as it bunched at my thighs. I didn’t say anything. My concentration was focused solely on not crying. I couldn’t cry; I didn’t want to imagine how the 2 hours of hard work I’d spent on my makeup in the bathroom would melt into such a mess. I was trying but I’d never felt so… rejected. I attempted to pull my dress down to cover my thighs, suddenly feeling more exposed than turned on, and waited for him to continue… but he didn’t. He blinked a few times before he stumbled over his own feet in the hall on the way to the stairwell, taking one look over his shoulder at me as he ascended up the first few steps.
I was made up of a million little pieces… but of all those pieces, I didn’t have the ones that would make him interested in me. I didn’t have those pieces that would make him even consider the notion.
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