Post by Nicholas "Cole" Parker on Sept 1, 2015 6:45:41 GMT
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aybe he’d given it too much hope. Things were too good between them, too real, and he’d been too dependent on the faith that she could put it all behind her. Who was he to believe, even for the faintest of seconds that she could be so easily manipulated? No. She could never be a pawn; she’d made that clear the moment he met her. The moment he overstepped his bounds she had been ready to set sail, leaving him stranded on the island of ‘What the hell do I do now?’ He had been a damn fool to think his indiscretion could be forgotten about, or over one night for that matter, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried. Yet, he’d still woken up to an empty bed.
Even still, the sun persisted in rising. Except this day when he finally slipped into consciousness, there was nothing to wake to. No wake up calls or morning surprises, drowsy kisses or shower escapades, and no one there to pull back beneath the sheets once it was all over with, in an attempt to keep it all on repeat. He was alone, doomed to mull over his mistakes… and the false hope she’d given him. Maybe at least, now he could get to work on time.
His ‘carefree’ mentality was a lot simpler than caring, as was convincing himself that the pain was cosmetic so that he could get through the morning. But each step into his routine sent him further into the past. Every memory mimicked a tiny barb, hooking into his skin and nagging him back into the room in which he came. But he continued on until his routine took a sudden detour - to the alcohol? He didn't object. This was as good a time as any in his opinion. The man picked up a glass of whiskey to sip on as his autopilot took him on another trip; back. He unwillingly moved backwards through his routine, which ended him right in the same location he began, sat on the edge of the bed staring at the bathroom doorway. There he stared blankly as if she was to emerge from the door at any moment, drop him a damp towel and begin dressing for her day. He tried to use the alcohol as his buffer – honestly he did, but as each memory piled up, his grip on the glass in his hand only tightened.
Who was he trying to kid? He couldn't convince himself of a damn thing, and he certainly couldn’t keep on pretending like everything was alright.
Fury bubbled beneath the surface like a disease, too persistent for him to ignore. He snapped suddenly, his eyes flashing a rage that could only be quelled by the release of the well-aimed glass at the bathroom mirror. Both of the thick glasses shattered on impact and he released a low hiss; equal parts satisfaction and annoyance, as he began to upturn his room. He started with the closet, flinging his suit jackets and ripping open drawers, with which he emptied the contents onto the carpet. Is this all some game to you? He silently demanded, tipping over the bedside table. Congrats Cass. You win. Once the room had been properly destroyed, the man clenched his jaw and sunk back onto the disheveled bed as he surveyed the damage done.
The only thing of interest, however, laid in the same spot they had all night. He eyed the stilettos with a sideways glance, never lingering for too long. It hurt, mentally and physically. That damn shoe left quite the welt. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes. Cass... Had she left those on purpose? Was this all just some scam?
Against his better judgement, he fished out his phone and dialed her familiar number. He knew she wouldn’t pick up – if she wanted to talk to him she wouldn’t have left. He just needed to hear her voice; as if her voicemail recording alone was going to enlighten him as to why she’d up and left. Wishful thinking; women were much too complicated for that. Just before the voicemail box tone, he reluctantly pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call. There was so much to say, so many questions, but whatever they may be, none of it was going to be said over the phone.
He tossed the device before sloppily pulling off his tie and falling back into bed. Fuck. I don’t want to live without you. He laid amongst the wreckage of his bedroom and could only find it in him to stare up at the ceiling. He’d ruined his relationship, his house, and shortly his career. His life was in utter disarray, but for once… he simply didn’t care.
ISHY of THQ & ADOXOGRAPHY
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immortals try to picture me without you but i can't
|
M
Even still, the sun persisted in rising. Except this day when he finally slipped into consciousness, there was nothing to wake to. No wake up calls or morning surprises, drowsy kisses or shower escapades, and no one there to pull back beneath the sheets once it was all over with, in an attempt to keep it all on repeat. He was alone, doomed to mull over his mistakes… and the false hope she’d given him. Maybe at least, now he could get to work on time.
His ‘carefree’ mentality was a lot simpler than caring, as was convincing himself that the pain was cosmetic so that he could get through the morning. But each step into his routine sent him further into the past. Every memory mimicked a tiny barb, hooking into his skin and nagging him back into the room in which he came. But he continued on until his routine took a sudden detour - to the alcohol? He didn't object. This was as good a time as any in his opinion. The man picked up a glass of whiskey to sip on as his autopilot took him on another trip; back. He unwillingly moved backwards through his routine, which ended him right in the same location he began, sat on the edge of the bed staring at the bathroom doorway. There he stared blankly as if she was to emerge from the door at any moment, drop him a damp towel and begin dressing for her day. He tried to use the alcohol as his buffer – honestly he did, but as each memory piled up, his grip on the glass in his hand only tightened.
Who was he trying to kid? He couldn't convince himself of a damn thing, and he certainly couldn’t keep on pretending like everything was alright.
Fury bubbled beneath the surface like a disease, too persistent for him to ignore. He snapped suddenly, his eyes flashing a rage that could only be quelled by the release of the well-aimed glass at the bathroom mirror. Both of the thick glasses shattered on impact and he released a low hiss; equal parts satisfaction and annoyance, as he began to upturn his room. He started with the closet, flinging his suit jackets and ripping open drawers, with which he emptied the contents onto the carpet. Is this all some game to you? He silently demanded, tipping over the bedside table. Congrats Cass. You win. Once the room had been properly destroyed, the man clenched his jaw and sunk back onto the disheveled bed as he surveyed the damage done.
The only thing of interest, however, laid in the same spot they had all night. He eyed the stilettos with a sideways glance, never lingering for too long. It hurt, mentally and physically. That damn shoe left quite the welt. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes. Cass... Had she left those on purpose? Was this all just some scam?
Against his better judgement, he fished out his phone and dialed her familiar number. He knew she wouldn’t pick up – if she wanted to talk to him she wouldn’t have left. He just needed to hear her voice; as if her voicemail recording alone was going to enlighten him as to why she’d up and left. Wishful thinking; women were much too complicated for that. Just before the voicemail box tone, he reluctantly pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call. There was so much to say, so many questions, but whatever they may be, none of it was going to be said over the phone.
He tossed the device before sloppily pulling off his tie and falling back into bed. Fuck. I don’t want to live without you. He laid amongst the wreckage of his bedroom and could only find it in him to stare up at the ceiling. He’d ruined his relationship, his house, and shortly his career. His life was in utter disarray, but for once… he simply didn’t care.
