I shouldn’t have given in to him so fast. But at the time, it didn’t feel fast. I did after all want him just as much if not more. I think it was way more. I looked at him now, feeling him revert to a version I didn’t know, now that the chase was over. He sat on the sofa opposite me flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch.
I sat there, legs curled under me, arms crossed, trying to reconcile the man I met from the man before me now. He had been trying so hard before, texting me every morning, asking me out, sending me flowers. Last night, he was everything I needed. Gentle, attentive, telling me how long he had been waiting for this, how he couldn’t believe I was finally here. His excitement, his need, felt like mine, when he was whispering pretty praises into my ear, punctuated by deep thrusts. My warmth clenched with that thought, urging me to seat astride him. My eyes swayed to the bulge of his boxers, or the lack of it.
That was then.
Now, he barely noticed me. The TV seemed to hold his attention more. My chest tightened with realization. He had already gotten what he wanted. There wasn’t anything left for him to chase.
I looked down at my fingers, twisting the edge of my sweater. I could still feel him from last night, his weight, his whispers, his touch. His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it, smiled, and picked it up. The smile wasn’t for me. It hadn’t been for me all morning. He laughed softly at something on the screen before setting the phone down and flipping back to the channels.
“I should go,” I said, my voice more steady than I felt.
He barely looked up.
“Okay, cool. Let me know when you get home.” He said it so casually, like it was a norm. Like this was something we do.
My fingers moved quickly over my phone screen, requesting the Uber before I even stood. The thought of lingering, of waiting awkwardly for him to acknowledge my exit, made my stomach twist. I just needed to be gone. The app told me four minutes. God, let them be quick.
I forced my legs to move with the ease of someone unaffected, not the hurried shuffle of someone trying to outrun shame. They still ached, reminding me of last night’s pleasure, which now felt like a cruel joke. I hated that my body remembered, but it would fade, I told myself.
I pulled my sweater tighter around me as I stepped into my shoes and grabbed my bag, resisting the urge to bang the door shut behind me as I stepped out into the hallway.
The Uber was two minutes away now. I sighed in relief as I stepped into the elevator. Please God, Let me get home before I let myself feel the full sting of it.
The Uber pulled up as I stepped outside. Perfect timing.
I slid into the backseat, the driver confirming my name before pulling away.
I leaned my head back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window as the car sped on. I exhaled slowly, trying to breathe him out of my system. But my skin still held traces of him, memories pressed into my body like fingerprints on glass.
That too would fade, and I would be fine. Eventually.
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