Psychological Fatality

 
Written by Serena Wood |
Published on:

I’m sitting on the counter in your kitchen, I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest, a part of me hopes, as you walk into the room, that you can’t hear it too but another part of me wants to let someone in. Just once. Your eyes light up as you look up from the set of keys in your hand and we come face to face.

 

“Where have you been?” you ask almost immediately, like you can’t wait to hear the answer. ‘Breaking delicate hearts, just like the one you own.’ the thought crosses my mind in such a fleeting instant that I almost don’t catch it. Almost.

 

“Just busy with some stuff.” I uncross my legs as you step closer, opening them and then closing them around you once you’ve walked right into my trap.

 

“Well, sweet thing, what brings you back?” I don’t pay your question any mind, focusing on unbuttoning your shirt as my breath trickles down your neck. I can already feel the start of the rush, but I can’t do this here. Not out in the open like this, I need someplace dark; someplace secret.

 

“Come on.”

 

Ten minutes later I’m sitting on the concrete in your basement and you’re pulling out a collection of baseball cards your father gave you. But I don’t have time for conversation. I pull you down onto the couch and move to sit in your lap. The kissing only really lasts for a few minutes before you pull away.

 

“This isn’t what I usually do, a girl like you is new for me.” you tell me and I can tell that you mean it because your hands are shaking. I move to kiss your jawline and that’s where fighting this ends and something else begins.

 

“Why did you come back?” you ask again when it’s all over. I don’t know how to answer, I don’t know why I came back. But I don’t like the person it’s turning me into. I’m starting to suffer from another psychological fatality. I’m letting my walls down for you and that’s something I just can’t have.

 

“I have to go.” I pick up my clothes and get out of there as quickly as possible but it’s not quick enough because you shout out one last thing from the bottom of the steps as I leave.

 

“I could be your heaven in hiding.”

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Author: Serena Wood
I am a young writer from Virginia who's always had a passion for all things writing. My writing style varies depending on my mood of the day and I write almost anything imaginable; including poems, short stories, novels, and songs.

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Card image cap Juanita Smith - Great story



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