Cigarettes and drunken kisses

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Cigarettes and drunken kisses

Submitted: June 12, 2013

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Submitted: June 12, 2013

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Cigarettes and drunken kisses.

 

Why are all hotel rooms the same? They all have this dingy unclean feeling to me, with the cream walls and an inch of dust on the picture rails. I’m paying enough for this room, it would be nice if they actually cleaned it.

I brushed my slightly greasy brown locks away from my face and look into the bathroom mirror. Dark circles rim my eyes. Grey orbs stare back at me which were once a crystal blue.

A knock at the door startles me, who the hell wants me at bloody 2am? I drag myself out of the bathroom ready to shout at whoever has disturbed me at this ungodly hour.

I open the door and am greeted with my teary eyes best friend. His brown hair dripping wet and his black shirt and jeans are making a puddle on the floor.

“It’s over!” he cries and falls into my arms.

I bring him inside, sit him on the bed and grab a towel.

“Come on, let’s get these wet clothes off you.” He just sat and stared into oblivion.

I’ve been waiting for this day for the last 6 months. You see when he falls in love, he really falls, then when it’s break up time he comes crashing back to earth.  

She wasn't right for him anyway. No one will ever be right for him, I know I’m only his best friend but we share a love which no one else can, or will have. It’s unspoken in words but screamed out in everything we do together. The little glances held for a few seconds for longer than normal, so called meaningless touches and with the drink comes the hungry kisses. I fell for him a long time ago.

I pull back because I lose all control when I am around him. I am his, I will do exactly as he wants and sitting on my bed with just a towel wrapped around him, the silent tears flowing, he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t realise when he does that cute face and scrunches up his nose, my tummy flutters. He doesn’t realise when he runs up to me and tackles me to the floor laughing all the way, I want him to pin me down in a different way. He doesn’t realise that when he cries it’s the worst feeling I have ever felt. I want to grab him and kiss him with all of the passion I have inside of me. I want to hug him and tell him that it will all be ok, shower him with kisses, stroke his soft hair until his breathing slows and he falls into a deep sleep. I want to take care of him, protect him, not let anything or anyone ever hurt him because every tear that falls from his beautiful emerald eyes, breaks my heart a little more.

“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

He gets up, walks over to the mini bar grabs everything that he can and starts downing it all. He always turns to drink when he is depressed, gets totally off his face and expects me to clear up the trail of destruction he leaves and of course I will, despite the fact that in the morning when he has sobered up, I will be one of the things that he has destroyed.

Maybe I expect too much from him, that’s why it hurts so much when he uses me for his own convenience. One day I hope he will say

 “I love you, I’ve been so stupid, I’ve been searching for love and it’s been staring me in the face the whole time!”  

Obviously I am still waiting for that day, my hope slipping away.

He crawls up the bed to where I am sitting with a devious look in his eye, his towel gradually slipping lower and lower. We both know he is teasing me but I don’t care, just having him want me will do for now. He pours vodka into my mouth and down my chest, he looks at me while he licks the trickles down my chest, to me he is perfection.

I feel the vodka burn the back of my throat, I was already a bit tipsy but now I will go all out and drown my sorrows with my beautiful angel. He lights up a cigarette and blows me a smoky kiss, the kiss of death. Just like that cigarette is slowly killing him, he is slowly killing me with every look, touch, kiss. But in the morning it will all be a distant memory, I will have to learn to accept the fact that I can never call him mine and nothing apart from these drunken nights, will ever happen. I also know that in the morning I will have to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, leaving mine discarded on the floor. But the morning is a long way away yet so as he peels my clothes off, I sigh, take a drag of his cigarette and go along with it.

 


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