“I know what you’re gonna do.”
He says it as if it’s already happening.
“You’re gonna go home, shower this night off, and pretend it never fuckin’ happened. Say it was nothin’. Just a one-time thing. Kinda thing happens all the time, yeah?”
I close my eyes.
I want to tell him he’s wrong,
but I can’t.
I want to tell him to stop,
but my voice is broken.
“You’re gonna lie to yourself," he says. "Tell yourself—he’s not even thinkin’ about me, he’s forgettin’ me, he’s fine, he’s fuckin’ over it, doin’ the same shit, different girl—” His voice halts.
He blows out a breath. “Fuck.”
A hand drags down his face,
and his brows raise.
“Can’t even fuckin’ go there with you still in my mouth.”
A second goes by as he closes his eyes and breathes out.
Then opens them again.
“But you’ll say whatever you gotta say to yourself, spin whatever bullshit to hide behind to make this easier.” He jerks his chin toward the exit. “But before you walk out, I want you to really fuckin’ hear me.”
He waits 'til he has both my gaze and my next breath.
“You’ll be wrong. You’ll be so fuckin’ wrong,” he says, gentle now. “It happened. It was real. And I ain't gettin' over it. I’ll be thinkin’ about this. About you. Tomorrow. Next week. Fuckin’ years from now. ‘Cause this wasn’t nothin’ for me.”
Fuck him.
Fuck him for cutting off every exit I was already halfway down.
“I’m gonna think about you, Sonny,”
he says, defeated,
and it hurts me in the ribcage.
“There,”
he steps back,
“stripped all the fuckin’ lies.
“Nothin’ to hide behind.
“You don’t get to pretend this was nothin’.
“Now you gotta carry it, same as me.”
That was then.
