His face cracks,
and I hate how my breath skips seeing it.
I hate how he had the power to hurt me,
and how I can’t stand to see him hurt either.
“So, yeah—I’m fuckin’ scared,” I admit again, and Little Death drops down inside me with the confession, hot and fierce, screaming to be taken care of again.
I glance away,
ashamed of myself for saying it out loud,
and my thighs clench harder.
“I’m scared to throw it all away for you.
“Scared I’ll fuck it up.
“Scared you’ll leave.
“And then it’ll just be me.
“No Baby Contract. No Ben.
“Only me and the addiction.
“And I will fucking drown.”
The words hang in the air?—
hot, ragged, irretractable.
He closes his eyes, maybe to shut it all out.
But when he opens them again,
every part of him is still right here,
burning in it with me.
I can’t stand still.
I’m pushing my hair back, fidgeting, shifting.
My body’s searching for a lamppost to grind against.
“Forget it,” I breathe,
“Said what I needed to say.”
I take one step back.
Then another.
There’s a heartbeat throbbing hot between my thighs, begging for a fix.
“I can’t be here right now.”
