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I hated that I still dreamed of him.
The way his hair smelled, how soft it was when he let me touch it, the way he'd punch me in the arm whenever I said anything he deemed stupid, the way he laughed, how comfortable it was to wrap my arms around him—he was just tall enough for me to put my chin on the top of his head, I remember. Even if certain details had been lost to my memory, unable to withstand the test of time, he plagued my mind day in and day out like the sweetest parasite I never wanted to be rid of. I woke up nearly every night sweating bullets, my dreams coaxing me into restlessness no matter if they ended with blood on my hands or the feeling of his soft palms in mine—or, perhaps it was the guilt that followed me just as closely as the soft curve of his nose in my head.
I tried not to disturb the body next to me as I pushed myself up to sit in bed. I ran my hands down my face, calloused from the years of brutality I'd rather not think of. I didn't even have to look at the dimly glowing digital clock beside me to know it was an ungodly hour to be awake during, but knew better than to try and go back to sleep. So, I instead carefully got out of bed, eyes never straying far from the sleeping form beside me out of fear that he might wake, and quietly left the room once my slippers were on my feet.
I needed a cigarette. That's how most of my nights, or incredibly early mornings, had tended to go at the time. The smoking never helped much, but at least it was something to do other than stare off into the darkness of my bedroom. Healthier for my brain; not so much for my lungs.
My lungs, though, were the least of my worries. In fact, I wanted to ignore my worries altogether as I gazed off the balcony of our Syndicate funded, fancy condo and into the city. As cheesy as it was, I wondered if we were looking at the same sky that night, him and I, as I wondered every other night. The smoke I breathed out blurred my view until a light breeze shooed it away in ribbons. The end of my cigarette glowed a soft orange as I breathed in again, just to breathe out, pollute the air, and then my lungs again in a less than savory cycle. I ended up flicking the butt off the balcony no more than fifteen minutes after I'd lit it, and instead leaned on the railing to continue watching the slower, nighttime bustle of the city below me. I didn't want to go back to bed, but the universe still didn't seem to be on my side, even after all this time.
“God, Crush, it's four in the morning, what the hell are you doing?”
My head whipped around to find the source of the groggy voice behind me, my lighter nearly flying out of my hands.
“Sorry, did I- did I wake you?” I mentally cursed the way I stammered, “I didn't mean to,”
I only got a roll of heather irises in response as he took a step onto the balcony. If he noticed the smell—it was impossible for him not to, really—he only wrinkled his nose in distaste before wrapping slender arms around my torso. He was taller, and smelled almost sickeningly floral what with the name branded cologne he practically bathed in every other day. He smiled up at me, and I looked down at him before brushing deep indigo locks from his eyes that softened deceptively once they were uncovered.
“Come back to bed, Babe,” he hummed, lowering his face with an air of benevolence to nuzzle my chest, “It's cold,”
I knew better than to trust the way he held my gaze, those long lashes, the ashy violet eyes which glittered in such a way that they left me numb, those rosy porcelain cheeks, and plush pink lips. And without fail, I caved each time. I always did. He knew that.
“In a minute,” I sighed as I carded my fingers through his hair.
My eyes ended up drifting away from his after a short moment, instead finding the reflection of the city in the glass doors behind him. I felt his expression change before I saw it, and he let go of me to straighten his spine and get into my line of sight. The way the neck of my t-shirt fell off his shoulder would've been cute had he been anyone else.
“Or you could tell me what's up with you.” He crossed his arms, “Seriously, what's with the spacing out? The smoking? It's getting ridiculous, you know.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he didn't let me get in so much as a syllable.
“And don't even get me started on how late you've been coming home and how early you're getting up. Hell, it's four-AM, for fuck's sake!” His concern was beginning to sound more like scolding the longer he spoke, “You're looking more and more like a corpse than a man by the day.”
It took everything in me to avoid sighing lest it fan the flames of his late-night temper.
“I'm just… Stressed, Sodam, really,” I insisted on such an obvious lie, shutting my eyes as I ran a hand through my hair, “work's been… Stressful.”
When I opened my eyes, Sodam's had narrowed, as if he was judging my answer based on the way I was standing. It only took a moment, though, for him to seem satisfied enough with my explanation—or maybe he just didn't care that much—to drop the topic for the time being.
“Fine,” He sighed, and wrapped his arms gingerly around my neck.
I hesitated, hands hovering over Sodam's body with uncertainty before settling on his hips. We'd been together for nearly three years, seen each other in all states of undress, and I still hardly knew what to do with him.
“I've got a shoot tomorrow—today, Crush,” he said, a saccharine smile curling his lips, “would you mind coming with?”
I hummed a small, non-committal response, knowing full well a ‘would you mind coming’ tended to translate to ‘I want you to come, so you will.’ He smiled, and I felt his thin fingers softly begin playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Good,” he said, and then all fell quiet.
I could feel the way his eyes bore into me as my own gaze avoided them, hand still lightly playing with my hair as I tried not to hurt him by gripping his hips too hard. He then yawned softly, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Can we go back to bed now, Babe?” He asked, bottom lip jutting out just slightly as he looked up at me through his lashes, “It's cold, and I'd rather be in my nice, warm bed with my nice, warm boyfriend; is that so much to ask, hm? We still have a few more hours to ourselves, you know,”
I let out a soft breath as a hand slid down to draw small circles on my chest with his finger. He was hard to say no to. Not with the way he looked at me, or with the way his voice became so silky and quirked up at just the right moments to sound so strangely enticing, or the way his hands never seemed to leave me for very long. I found myself being guided back inside before I knew it, eyes and body feeling much heavier than before, but part of me knew I wasn't going to be sleeping much more.