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Give it time
The hubris of their relationship was the conceit that they thought and truly believed that they were unique and special to each other even when they truly aren't.
She's the kind of girl he wouldn't date, much less talk to even under duress. She's too crude, too fast, too smart-assed and her edges are too sharp. But he wanted her. His desire for her was strong. Lust, want and fuck were all understatements. He wanted her - all of her. He wanted to fuck her in an earnest way, the kind where you see colors behind your eyes if you close them real hard enough.
They fuck in a way nobody has ever did before - desperate, like it would never happen again, like it isn't enough, like there isn't enough time. He kissed the knobs of her ankles like they were her fingertips - gentle and loving but he pounded into her like she was going to disappear and change her mind in a heartbeat. And in spite of the pulse of her still broken heart caused by him, she still wants this - wants him. And she's too drunk on that emotion and too overwhelmed to try to control it and reel it in.
When everything's over and the high of the orgasms come down, she looks at him - gazes, actually, with an illegible storminess written on her face and his resolve threatens to crumble like a house of cards in a breeze.
But some things don't change. Like the fact that she's still always the one being left behind and he's always the one walking out the door.
One day, she thinks, one day she'll wait for the roles to be reversed.
She's the kind of girl he wouldn't date, much less talk to even under duress. She's too crude, too fast, too smart-assed and her edges are too sharp. But he wanted her. His desire for her was strong. Lust, want and fuck were all understatements. He wanted her - all of her. He wanted to fuck her in an earnest way, the kind where you see colors behind your eyes if you close them real hard enough.
They fuck in a way nobody has ever did before - desperate, like it would never happen again, like it isn't enough, like there isn't enough time. He kissed the knobs of her ankles like they were her fingertips - gentle and loving but he pounded into her like she was going to disappear and change her mind in a heartbeat. And in spite of the pulse of her still broken heart caused by him, she still wants this - wants him. And she's too drunk on that emotion and too overwhelmed to try to control it and reel it in.
When everything's over and the high of the orgasms come down, she looks at him - gazes, actually, with an illegible storminess written on her face and his resolve threatens to crumble like a house of cards in a breeze.
But some things don't change. Like the fact that she's still always the one being left behind and he's always the one walking out the door.
One day, she thinks, one day she'll wait for the roles to be reversed.
