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His long legs swallowed up the distance from one room to another. A wooden floorboard screamed, and fuck, I wanted to scream, too.
He opened the door just down from his, turning on a light. Pink welcomed me inside and surrounded me. I loathed it, but I liked the idea of the bed he dropped me on. Four posts and a soft voile closed me in. His wet shoes left prints on the carpet, and it annoyed me more than the color. But still, I didn’t talk.
He threw a bath towel at me. I had no idea where it came from. It was pink, like everything else, and soft. I rubbed it over my body and squeezed the excess water from my hair.
He sat at an oak dresser near an open window that let in a cold breeze as he penned me a note with the stationery set there. I shivered, and he slammed the window closed.
I jumped when the noise rattled the entire room, the stuffed toys on a high shelf trembling, too, but he did nothing to soothe me...that was expected. His interest in me, or whatever it was that he’d briefly shown, had washed away down the drain.
I should have bitten his tongue.
I should have attacked.
He had no idea how I seethed on the bed as he continued to write, but frustration overtook him, too. And I got the impression he couldn’t finish whatever he wanted to say as the fluffy pink pen shook between his fingers.
Something howled beyond the glass, sounding more like a wild animal than the wind, making me more grateful it was closed. It interrupted him, and my watching him. And he finally set the pen down.
He made his way over to me, causing more shoeprints on the carpet, and sat down. I hid behind the bath towel, not wanting him to see my body, which was still showing signs of arousal, with hard nipples and my pussy glistening. I couldn’t help it. I hated, loved, lusted for, and wanted him all at once.
But I wouldn’t show those last three feelings when he gave me nothing but lies and confusion.
The edge of my bed grew wet thanks to his soggy clothes, all of which clung to his body in the most sinful way. I needed to stop letting him affect me this way. The perfect satin sheets were now crumpled and cold, and it was his fault. And all I could think of were ways we could warm up.
He stared at the note in his hands, tanned fingers folding it in half. He handed it to me, snatching my bath towel in exchange.
I jumped again, but he didn’t so much as look at me.
He didn’t wait for me to read his note.
He was up and gone, squelching shoes carrying him away before I even asked how he knew how to spell my name.
I flipped open the folded sheet the second my door clicked shut, hiding the untraditional spelling of Feebee, and I read...
Your antics in my bathroom were amusing. But that’s all you are to me. Amusement. Don’t ever convince yourself you can be more.
The only reason you’re alive is because I don’t have it in me to stop Chandelle’s heart.
I thought I could have a little fun without the guilt of feeling like I’m cheating.
I was wrong.
You don’t taste like her.
You don’t kiss like her.
Because you’re not her.
You’re nothing to me.
Unworthy.
And it makes me sick that you’re living while she’s not…
He didn’t say more.
He didn’t need to.
Enough had been said.
