A Hard Binge
By: RDV
She was walking straight into a snare when she agreed to go to that party. He would be there, her psycho ex. Two years and no/awkward communication and many other ex-boyfriends didn’t confer to him a clue of any kind. She didn’t want him. Who was there to dispute that? She never did. It was an act of kindness as the new kid in the block to say yes to his advances. She did make it perfectly clear that he wasn’t her type but somehow, he was insistent. He thought they should give it a try. Wrong move. Checkmate. Then came endless responsibilities.
Eventually they broke up. At least they learned how NOT good it was. There was the moral after all. He agreed miraculously. Perhaps he wallowed in the bitter field. Of course he did. It was partially her fault too. She was restless. She wanted someone else sooner than one could say he loves her. And because she was the kind whom any guy would be drawn to, they just came dropping at her feet.
Now the orgy was on at one of their common friends’ house. The drinks were called in the living room. The orange light predominated the immediate vicinity. Everyone was languid on the sofa, half-drunk with vodka and a little dose of lemon and salt. Suddenly she felt her vision twirling. She couldn’t feel her current boyfriend anywhere. Perhaps he was in the comfort room barfing out alcohol. In any case, he was gone.
Then she could feel him. No, his ex. He was staring at her from across the room. He was sober, no question, while she was helpless and deeply inebriated. He got up from his seat almost automatically. He had preconceived this action of his. He never really forgave her for dumping him. Pride factor. Guys are like that. He briskly moved towards her as if careful not to have anyone stop him. She couldn’t resist him; she was too enervated. She could feel his arms lifting her up, the smell of alcohol and smoke fresh in his breath. She could feel being placed in a room where none but both of them were the only living soul. She landed on a bed. There he was on top of her now, doing what she knew he wanted to do to her all these years. She never really let him get a taste of her. But now was his chance.
He looked like she had never seen him look before. He was angry, vengeful, all of it. They never really got to smooth out the rough edges of their relationship. It was left in the air, suspended, or just simply forgotten. All of it was told in his face. He needed to grow back what died inside of him. She killed it; she should pay for it now.
She lay there, immotile, close to tears. She couldn’t move. He got her under lock and key.
She was walking straight into a snare when she agreed to go to that party. He would be there, her psycho ex. Two years and no/awkward communication and many other ex-boyfriends didn’t confer to him a clue of any kind. She didn’t want him. Who was there to dispute that? She never did. It was an act of kindness as the new kid in the block to say yes to his advances. She did make it perfectly clear that he wasn’t her type but somehow, he was insistent. He thought they should give it a try. Wrong move. Checkmate. Then came endless responsibilities.
Eventually they broke up. At least they learned how NOT good it was. There was the moral after all. He agreed miraculously. Perhaps he wallowed in the bitter field. Of course he did. It was partially her fault too. She was restless. She wanted someone else sooner than one could say he loves her. And because she was the kind whom any guy would be drawn to, they just came dropping at her feet.
Now the orgy was on at one of their common friends’ house. The drinks were called in the living room. The orange light predominated the immediate vicinity. Everyone was languid on the sofa, half-drunk with vodka and a little dose of lemon and salt. Suddenly she felt her vision twirling. She couldn’t feel her current boyfriend anywhere. Perhaps he was in the comfort room barfing out alcohol. In any case, he was gone.
Then she could feel him. No, his ex. He was staring at her from across the room. He was sober, no question, while she was helpless and deeply inebriated. He got up from his seat almost automatically. He had preconceived this action of his. He never really forgave her for dumping him. Pride factor. Guys are like that. He briskly moved towards her as if careful not to have anyone stop him. She couldn’t resist him; she was too enervated. She could feel his arms lifting her up, the smell of alcohol and smoke fresh in his breath. She could feel being placed in a room where none but both of them were the only living soul. She landed on a bed. There he was on top of her now, doing what she knew he wanted to do to her all these years. She never really let him get a taste of her. But now was his chance.
He looked like she had never seen him look before. He was angry, vengeful, all of it. They never really got to smooth out the rough edges of their relationship. It was left in the air, suspended, or just simply forgotten. All of it was told in his face. He needed to grow back what died inside of him. She killed it; she should pay for it now.
She lay there, immotile, close to tears. She couldn’t move. He got her under lock and key.
posted by Ria D. at
10:59 PM
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