It’s a universally known truth that a man or woman will always feel a deep pain when it comes to a lack of lust in their life, even if they deny it. It’s human nature. Woman are more likely to express this feeling, yet men fear that their ‘man card’ will be taken away from them if they so much a shed an inch of light on their soppy love life.
It was roughly 3am, I couldn’t really tell as it was too dark, but I got a glimpse of the clock at the far end of the room when the moonlight was caught in its reflection. The deep breathing of the man beside me seemed to grow louder in sequence with the ticking; one second passed, and he drew a breath, another passed, and that breath seemed deeper, heavier than the last. He wasn’t falling asleep, as I could feel his hands moving up and down my leg, yet I could tell what he wanted – He wanted me to leave so he could sleep, but isn’t this what it’s all about, the soft, gentle quiet that follows an amazing, and often intense, night? Or have I been lying to myself these past few years?
My eyes remained glued to the ceiling, I was looking at nothing in particular, but I was looking. My mind forced my body to find a way to focus on something other than the questions being pelted against me, taunting me as thought I were experiencing a conscious nightmare. I felt used, but in a way that was my own fault.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, turning my head to face a pair of eyes that looked back at me with eagerness and humour. I could tell simply by the pause in his response that he wanted me to get out of his bed, yet there was something residing in him that didn’t want me to feel bad about being kicked out at such a time.
“I do need to get some sleep, but I don’t want you to leave if you don’t want to.” He sighed as he placed his head on my chest. The warm sensation that occurred at that moment almost made me forget about what he just said. It was almost like an instant pain relief, in a way. Should I simply get up and leave? I finally allow myself to listen to the questions I pain myself to ask over and over.
“It’s fine, I’ll go home.” I finally said in a plain voice, not wanting to let him hear my upset. I should be used to this by now, but I can never truly bring myself to stop. The feel of being wanted, knowing that someone finds me attractive in the slightest, is one of the best feelings, yet I know deep down that I’m only doing it because I’m alone. Is it really worth the inevitable? Each time is the same, each time I’m forever faced with the dreaded walk home, alone, cold and distraught.
I commenced with the usual sluggish movements to get ready, slowly searching for my clothes with my hands. I took as much time as possible, just to mull over my thoughts. It isn’t an easy process, yet I put myself through it just for the satisfaction of human contact.
As I was slipping on my underwear, I felt the man’s warm arms wrap around me. It’s a pleasant feeling, and I allow it to tame my trepidation for a moment, only to see the light at the end of the tunnel which is another oncoming train.
I managed to get ready without a single word being spoken. It took me several moments to adjust my jumper, which was another excuse to linger around for longer, but I was finally ready to turn and face him to say goodbye. As I did, I saw a feel of regret in his eyes. Did he truly care? That’s a question I’ll never know the answer to, but for the duration of my stay, it felt as though he did.
“I’m sorry you have to leave. I really wish you could stay.” He groaned as he took hold of my hands. There was almost a pain in his voice that suggested his words were true, yet I refused to allow them to touch my heart, which was forever cold.
His lips found their way to the skin of my hands as he kissed me softly before looking into my painful eyes. I could make out a hint of a smile that said so much.
“Text me when you get home, please? I want to know that you’re safe.” He continued, moving his hands to my arms. This is what I dreaded; the cute, soppy goodbye. It was almost a poetic tragedy, ending the same way it began.
“Yeah…” I said softly, trying to mask the regret that found a home on my tongue.
The goodbye was sweet but short, and I finally left, hugging myself for warmth, despite wearing a thick, light blue jumper.
The walk home felt longer than it was. I felt eyes on me every time a car passed me, fearing that they know the truth of where I have been, yet I know I’m just over-thinking, as I tend to do.
As I was walking through the dark streets, there was nothing going through my head. It felt like an empty dream, yet sadly this was no dream. It was a waken mistake.
As I finally entered the silent house that I call my home, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and slowly pressed various letter to form a shaky text. Do I put a kiss on the end? I asked myself as my thumb was held over the send button, but I deleted any form of affection at the last second. It was my not, not his own. I allowed myself to feel this way, to allow the tears to run down my face as I hit send.
This was yet another example of how my life had turned for the worst, how I let myself be consumed by guilt, regret and sorrow. But I knew only too well that soon I would be facing another episode of One Night Over.