He’s on her, thrusting and panting. She wants him to grab her and fuck her hard. Fuck her deep. Make her hurt. Yes, fuck her like she is the last woman on earth. She wants him moaning with pleasure. Not because she thinks this is what he wants but because this is what she wants. In the real world, she is strong and innocent. She is the leader and the role model. Behind closed doors she wants to be taken. To be consumed. To be controlled. To be owned. She wants him to get lost in a fantasy where he keeps her begging for more because she can’t get enough. She can never get enough. There was nothing dirty about it. There is nothing dirty about it. And then the door opens.
Maybe she should have listened to him. Had she listened there would be no complex situations. He told her not to fall in love with him. He told her not to get attached. Why after a week of their meeting can he say “I’ve missed you.” And after a few weeks say “I need you” After a few months say “I love you.” And after almost two years say “I feel nothing.” Why was that okay?
The soundtrack of her life is far from that of Unchained Melody. She believed the words he wrote for her. She lived the words he sang to her. “How can I not feel the way that I feel?” … “Are you scared?” … “Together, we will make it fine”. Truth is they are not together, they are not even connected. Truth is that as awesome as he thinks he is he let someone just as awesome walk out of his life. No, he didn’t let it happen, he made it happen, he pushed her out of his life with his goddamned stubbornness. Truth is all he can see is her face when he close his eyes. Truth is all he can hear is her saying “I love you” and knowing what love is supposed to feel like. Truth is feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. Truth is knowing he could have had it all and settled for nothing. Truth is he would rather live with regrets than take a chance. Truth is without trust there is no love. Truth is he can never define forever. Truth is it was all a lie.
Why worry about the weather? Or being on time? About what you are wearing? Or how your pictures turn out? Why worry about first impressions? Or unread messages? Why go back in time when worries were simple? Why even try to redo what has been undone? Why?
She doesn’t give a damn. She feels nothing. She no longer laughs with happiness. And no longer cries with sadness. She doesn’t care. She used to hate it when someone said those words, “I don’t care”. Never say those words because the truth is you do care. But now she gets it. Now she understands it. Now she can say “I don’t care” and mean it. Maybe she will thank him for that one day.