You're not sure to be standing (and pounding with your cane) outside her door until she opens it. Everything is filtered trough a fog that lately seems to be your brain's best friend. You can't see anything without asking yourself if it's real.

Well, she is.

She looks at you with the same, pitying look she had the other day, while pleading you to stop whatever it was you were doing. Maybe slicing your arm (enjoying every little bit of it). Or maybe she just wanted you to stop being a jerk to everyone around you (to her) and to begin acting like the man you (supposedly) are, and not a little kid with nothing to worry about beside his pills.

You hated her back then. You hated her for looking at you like you were the one crushing her to death with your actions. You hated her for talking to you that way. For pleading. You hated her for caring.

And that's why you came here tonight.
You're not even sure of yourself anymore. Maybe it was for the huge amount of scotch you drowned yourself into during the day, and the previous night, and the previous day too. You feel like you're made of liquor, and you don't exactly hate the sensation.
Everything feels lighter and blurry, and you don't understand much of what's happening around you.

You find yourself inside her apartment, and you really don't know how you made it so far without crumbling to the floor.
You don't say a word. You don't want to. Maybe you can't, even.

She's still looking at you, trying to figure out what are you doing there. The only thing you can think about is that you hate the way she's staring at you. She has no right to look concerned. To look worried. She has no fucking right to let you lay down on the couch, to cradle your head in her lap and sooth you. She has no right to try and understand what you're going through.

But now here you are. You don't have a clue as how it happened, but you're almost falling asleep, stretched on the couch, with her hand in your damp hair, her fingers running through it like they always belonged there, while the other hand is soothing the very same wound she fixed a couple of days (years maybe) ago.

She hasn't said a word yet. You didn't, either.

You hate her for doing that. You hate her for making all of this simpler than it would have been without her. You hate her for not asking for explanations.
You hate that look. The only thing you can think about is the fastest way to get rid of it, to wipe it from her face.
And while you're thinking about it, you fall asleep.


You awake some time later. You don't know exactly where you are, and when you do, you don't remember how you got there.
You've got a blanket around you. You feel yourself sticky with sweat, and you feel something warm on your face, and under your head. You find yourself still laying in her lap, your head still cradled in her hands. She's not moving, and her breathing is slow and regular. Through the fog that lies permanently in your head you assume she fell asleep too.

You hate all of this.

You hate feeling comfortable in a situation that wasn't made for you. Because you're not that kind of person. You hate her, you don't want to be here, you don't want to feel like this, youdon'twanttofeelherlikethis.

It hurts you. It hurts you more than your fucking leg to lay like this, to feel (enjoy) the heat of her hand. You want to run (limp) away as fast as you can, and you hate yourself even more when you close your eyes and drift back to sleep, draping your arm around her form, pulling her even closer.


You're walking. You don't understand why, when, or even where, but you feel your legs moving toward some kind of light. You're not alone. You're not leaning on your cane. You're leaning against someone. Her. You don't know where she's taking you, you just let her do it. You think you're still sleeping, or something like that. You don't really know and you don't really care.
For a brief moment you think that maybe drinking yourself to unconsciousness wasn't the best thing to do, but then you remember the pain, and you're sure you would have done it ten times more if necessary.

She lets you down on a bed. You're too tired to look around but you know it's not a spare room, it's her room, because you can recognize her scent on the pillows, and you wonder what color the sheets are. You're too tired to open your eyes to find out, so you just keep it closed, slightly aware of the fact that she's not leaving you alone, and that the heat radiating from the other side of the bed comes from her body.

You feel her shift a couple of times, and you hate yourself (her) for recognizing her touch when she puts her arms around you again. You don't want her to see you like this. But there's nothing you can do about it.
You try to talk. You want to. But all that escapes your mouth is:


-I know- She says.

And you're almost sure you felt her lips on your forehead before slipping away in what everybody else would call 'unconsciousness' but you simply address as 'absence of pain'.


You're awake now. She's sleeping next to you, and you have your arms around her. You don't know when it happened, but now it's you cradling her. She's laying in the crook of your arm and you simply can't take your eyes (hands) off of her. You don't want to, but you're touching (caressing) her face. Your hand slips in her hair and you know this is wrong but you can't help it. Your hand goes further down, and now you're caressing her arm, and then it's her belly and her back too. You can't help but wanting her the closest to you is possible. You feel her moving in her sleep, and you're surprised (but then again, no) to feel her arm tighten around your chest. Her face is too close to your neck and you can feel (rather than hear) her breathing change in pace. You're way too aware of the effect she's having on you, and you try to move to make yourself more comfortable, but you can't. Her leg moves up your body to rest between yours, and then you're loosing your battle and you can't even blame it on alchool anymore, 'cause now you're perfectly aware of everything and the fog you found yourself into a couple of hours (years) ago is not there anymore. She's shifting again and you know that she's not sleeping anymore.

You kiss her on the forehead, just like she did a little while ago, and she stiffens, but after a moment her head is moving upwards and now, now she's watching you. She's watching you and you don't see that pitying look anymore. You don't even know what it is now, but you don't hate it. You stare down at her and you know that you should say something, excuse yourself and go away and never look back, because this is wrong.


It's wrong. And you're kissing her.

And she's not surprised, and you don't even know why you expected her to be. She's kissing you back like her life depended on it. It's not gentle, caring, sweet. It's rude, hard, and it looks like you're feeding yourselves. You can't think of anything besides her taste, her smell, the way her skin travels under your fingers. And you can't restrain your hands anymore. You're touching her everywhere, and from the sounds she's making you're touching her in all the right places. You feel like you want to tell her something along the line of 'This isn't going to change anything' or 'It's just because i feel like doing it, it doesn't mean anything', but you can't.

You hate her now even more, because she's scaring the shit out of you.

You find yourself needing her, and it wasn't what you planned on doing at all.

You don't want to need her, and yet, you do.

And you can't take your eyes off of her. You're kissing her, watching her, and you're taking her in. You're dragging her to the end of everything you both knew and she seems willing to follow. You know that in the end you'll end up killing her with what you are but you don't care. And from the look in her eyes, she doesn't, either.

You find yourself on top of her, and it's surprising how your leg hurts like hell but you don't mind, not at all, not now. Because you're on top of a gorgeous woman and you know she's gonna give you everything you need and you're gonna take it from her without saying a word. You rub yourself against her and she's moaning and oh, how you love that sound, and you're willing to give everything you ever had (not much, really, but maybe enough) to make sure you'll hear that sound again. You can't stop moving and it feels like you're playing a new kind of instrument, 'cause she's reacting to your every movement and you simply love it. You love how she's letting you do everything you want. You love how she's completely abandoned to you. And you missed this and you didn't even know it.

Somewhere along the way you lose your t-shirt, and your jeans, and her clothes are following. You take her in. You can't help to blalantly stare at her 'cause, god, she's really gorgeous and you don't deserve anything like that, but then again, shhh, she wants you and you stare and she's looking back at you and she's smiling (god that smile) and you find yourself drowning and you let it happen 'cause she's there, and she'll break your fall (no, she'll follow you, and you'll both fall together).

You kiss her again, and maybe this time it's a softer kiss, but you don't really know, 'cause now you're inside her, and you growl, and she's moaning, and everything else falls to the background. You're moving slowly (so painfully slow), and she's still watching you and you don't hate her anymore. You lock your gazes and begin to move faster. And it's nothing and all and everything in between.

It's pure bliss.

And you try to tell her, but you know you can't talk, so you take her hands and pin them over her head. She can't move anymore. Not if you don't let her. And your movements are even harder now, and she's taking you in like that's all she ever wanted. And you know it is.

You're both finding your release. Her hands are pinned even harder above her head and as you see her expression change you realize that she's reading into you. Her eyes are swallowing your fear and she knows you're terrified, she knows you can't help it, and the look she's giving you now is one of acceptance and oh, you can't think anymore now, 'cause she's freed her hands and she's holding you and her nails are digging deep in your back and she's kissing you and you're both giving in to pleasure and everything else doesn't matter anymore.

You think she's whispering your name, and you're sure as hell that that's the sound you want to keep hearing over and over again.


You're both steading your breath now. You're not on top of her anymore, and she's laying next to you, with her head on your chest. Your hand is drawing lazy circles on her skin, and you're surprised to feel comfortable. You're even more surprised to hear yourself (try to) speak.

- I...

- I know.

She kisses you again, and you close your eyes. Your last conscious thought is 'This must be the real absence of pain'.
Seconds later you're both asleep.