dragging on a pair of jeans,
the note clenched between my teeth.
I shove it into my back pocket
and snatch the Benz keys off the counter.
Ben’s watching as I’m pacing the penthouse.
“Where you goin’, Baby?”
he asks, trying to keep up.
“For a fuckin’ drive,” I mutter.
“What about your fix?”
“I’ll finger-fuck myself, thanks.”
I growl at the idea of my own hand.
Of only having Ben’s mouth now.
“FUCK!”
I punch the down button repeatedly.
Then the elevator takes its sweet time,
whole penthouse silent.
So I open the coat closet just to?—
SLAM—
door against frame.
It’s pointless
and satisfying,
for only half a second.
Then the elevatordingslike it’s scared of me.
// OCT 05, 9:11 AM — SOUNDWAVE RECORDS — MIDTOWN, NYC //
Baby—
Don’t go screaming at Ben, I’m alright. Just needed to leave before I did something stupid.
Fuck, Baby. I don’t want to go. But it’s killing me to stay this close to you and not be allowed to touch you how I want. Or hold you. Or sleep next to you. Or tell you what you really are to me. But I been coming apart, wanting things I ain’t allowed to want. Shit I know you’ll never give. And truth is? I want all of you.
But you don’t want none of that. You want your rules. Your Boys. Not a man who wakes up loving you and hates himself for it. So I’m leaving before I break the rules worse than this letter already does.
I fucking love you, Allison.
Yeah. I said it.
