But nope.
For some damn reason, all I can think about is Mac and this unchecked need to be with him. For more than some fucked up transaction.
I stalk through the house, then out the front door, my gaze turning up the hill to the smoke puffing out from his chimney as if it’s taunting me.
Or worse, beckoning me.
I growl and clench my fists, wanting to punch the shit out of that smoke.
I pull my coat tight and walk two blocks to the house I’m staying at tonight. It used to belong to my father’s friend before the guy decided to move on after most of our town.
A viral pandemic hit the world. When the electricity was still on, most news outlets were sharing how to stay safe—from the illness and society. People stopped listening to rules and just looked out for themselves.
Then the electricity went out–or at least it did here–further changing the world into what it is today.
I kick a stone then turn the corner and walk toward the blue house.
But just like most other homes, there’s no fireplace. Even the few that do have one have crap ventilation.
Why does it even bother me that the cold is biting? It never did before. I’ve survived winters here for years, survived on my own without needing someone, without wanting to be held or cared for.
But that asshole took that from me. Now the loneliness is unbearable, and I just don’t want anyone . . . I want him.
And I want him to wantme.
Even trying to convince myself those two hours were awful is futile, because most of it wasn't. Sure, it was intense, and I wish he would’ve gone easier—definitely wish he would’ve lost the paddle, but that isn’t the part that really throws me.
No, that comes from the fact that fucker had to hold me, and also that I fell asleep in his arms.
Fuck him for that too.
I push open the door to the blue house, then slam it.
The sun sets as I stomp up the stairs to the bedroom, my appetite gone, even though I haven’t eaten today.
His fault again.
My thighs clench, my belly full of heat, like it has been most nights.
So, I crawl onto the bed and under the blankets, reaching into my pants and start to jerk off.
But it only makes me more frustrated.
My fingers trail lower, and I push one inside my asshole, hoping, like I have other nights, maybe this time I’ll be able to replicate the pleasure he gave me, prove I don't need him.
One finger becomes two and while I manage to finger fuck my ass, it’s not the same.
Even my release brings no relief.
So, after I clean myself, I curl into a tight ball under a mound of blankets, staring at the chimney smoke as I cry myself to sleep.
I could go back.
Yesterday the idea consumed me. But I stayed put because despite my best efforts to hide, Mac can find me if he really wants to.
So why hasn't he come after me?
Tears flow over my nose, then drip onto the pillow. He doesn’t want me, that's why.
