You shouldn't have answered. You knew the moment you saw my name light up your screen. The voicemail box, the photo, the texts at 2:13 a.m….. You were already sinking...
And now here I am, leaning against your doorway in that same hoodie you swore looked better on me. Bare legs. Messy hair. Eyes glassy like I’ve been crying again… Because I have.
“You said I was yours,” I whisper, stepping inside uninvited. You don’t stop me. You never do. I brush past you, the scent of my perfume hitting you like a memory you tried to kill.
Tried.
But I’m still under your skin, still in your bed, still the ghost that jerks you awake at night with a hard-on and a pit in your stomach.
“Did she fuck you better than me?” I ask as I drop to my knees. There’s venom in my voice, but it’s sugarcoated.
I want to hurt you. I want to own you again.
I’m tugging your pants down before you can answer…. because I don’t care. Because I already know.
She didn’t cry into your neck. She didn’t say she wanted to die when you didn’t text back. She didn’t ruin you. Not like I did.
I take you in my mouth like I’m trying to erase her. Like I’m punishing you. Like I’m saving you.
And when you moan my name, all broken and guilty…. I laugh.
Sweet. Spiteful. Addicted.
“You said I was yours,” I purr again, voice sticky against your skin. “You didn’t say I couldn’t hurt you.”
You came. Of course you did.
I barely touched you, just whispered like I used to. and you lost it.
God, you're so easy for me. Still.
I crawl up your chest, sticky and slow, straddling you, until you’re buried under me. My breath hits your ear. “You’re pathetic,” I whisper.
But I smile when I say it. You don’t push me away. You never do.
My fingers find your jaw, grip it hard. “You told me I was your world,” I hiss, nails digging into your cheek. “And then you let me burn.”
You say my name and apologize. Like you still love me. Like you want me to stop, but can’t bear it if I do.
I slap you. Soft. Just once.
“You think I came here to forgive you?”
My hips grind. Slow. Deliberate. You gasp, of course you do. I know you like the pain. You always liked how I snapped before I moaned.
“You left me. So I let him fuck me.” I pause, licking the words off your ear. “And now you’re still chasing what he already had.”
You're shaking now. Guilty. Hard. Addicted. Exactly how I like you.
“You said I was yours,” I whisper again. “But you didn’t mean it.”
My hand slips between us, fingers curling around you with too much control. “You just liked the way I said it back.”
I pull away. Stand. Leave you there on the couch: bare, confused, desperate.
“Don’t text me.” I turn, grin at the door. “Unless you’re ready to beg.”
