by Ruby Eagleton
He wouldn’t shift his gaze, even as mine darted around the room.
“Tell me why!” He grabbed my arms with a grip that should have been threatening, but instead reminded me of the many nights, and beds (and public toilets) in which we’d become so acquainted with each other.
He didn’t love me – don’t worry. I could tell that his ego was in more pain than his heart. None the less, I owed an explanation.
Although we’d only known each other for one (mostly) glorious year, he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever met, aesthetically at least. He had a body that was impossible to cut out, and everybody worshipped him, but only because both of his parents were dead.
“Yes, yes, alright.” I sighed finally resting my eyes in his. They were glassy, but it was hard to tell whether that was a result of emotion or drugs.
My arms were released as he slumped on to the bed next to me. His weight had me slightly elevated. I felt in control.
“I’m getting bored. We are young… and curious. It’s been long enough. This is getting old, and I am getting bored.” I nodded my face towards my crotch, staring at the evidence he’d left on my inner thighs, just the night before.
I’d always hated confrontation. Not because I was scared of anyone, or afraid of hurting feelings, but because I couldn’t be bothered with the aftermath. Emotion is exhausting.
Slamming my hands over his to muffle the noises that accompanied him clicking his fingernails together, I turned to face him. I found that noise equally infuriating and calming. Yet hearing it in this moment did nothing but cement the decision I’d made as the sun rose that morning over his sweaty red face.
“One year is not so long.” He smirked a smirk that did more than I think he intended. “Oh God, what’s wrong with me? Why does nothing ever work out?” He quoted from Bridget Jones Diary, and we both let out heavy breaths that were one part laughter and one part relief.
We’d wasted hours upon hours watching tacky romance films, sometimes just to drown the silence that always seemed to linger in the back of the room.
He looked so wholesome and satisfied. I wasn’t identifying any signs of the desperation or hysteria that I’d expected. I felt instant regret.
“Could you do something, one last time for me, before you go?” As soon as I’d made my request we both knew what was coming, and we both knew that he had control now.
“Yeah, yep, of course.” He agreed.
“Spit on my neck.”