Hopeless Lover (1)

He had this fantasy in his head; that she didn't crawl in bed with him after being gone all night. He remembered a time when he was perfect in her eyes, when they didn't fight so much, when he wasn't waiting every second for her to kiss him goodbye. He would lay awake at night, waiting to hear the door creak open, just to close his eyes real tight so she thought he was sleeping instead of moping. She would take off her shoes and curl up beside him, thinking that she was good at hiding. He could smell him on her. That scent clung to his nose every night like some kind of disease or parasite and he would bury his head into his pillow to forget how disgusting she was. Silently sobbing as her unconscious body would wrap around his; he could only muffle his cries by nearly suffocating himself with the sheets that she bought when they moved in together. "These look like home" she had said to him with a smile. These days, home smelled like another man. It smelled like the fear of being alone and desperate attempts at forgetting the scent of that man's vile cologne. It was a part of him now; like that smell was his own. It had formed a place inside his heart that ripped him apart from the inside out. In the morning, he would sit at his desk and write about everything he felt last night when she snuck in the room again. She would wake up and wrap her arms around his chest and he always asked where she had been even though he knew she was with other men. The way her arms felt around him still gave him butterflies; he would get lost in them and forgive all her lies. Then she was dressed and saying goodbye, making his hopes wither and die. As soon as the door would close, his fists would too. Blood aligned the walls. His hurt and heartbreak splattered in vibrant reds across the bed from where his knuckles bled so much while he ripped up the sheets. When she got home she could barely speak. His eyes were bloodshot and when he saw her, his heart stopped. He got to his feet as quick as he could and when she reached out for him he just looked at the blood around his feet where he stood. She reached out again so he grabbed her by the wrist and screamed "Where the hell have you been?!" There was no response so he started to pack his things and she couldn't stop him from leaving. He drove for miles. When he knocked on the door, a man answered, with a smile. There was that smell again; that parasite that haunted him through the night. He looked the man in the eyes and before he could run, he said goodbye and pulled out his gun. He grabbed his own hair and started to yell because the insanity was creating a bridge to hell, but he couldn't complete the journey because he had no soul left to sell. To this day he still speaks about how the calmest place he's been is behind those bars because he can't hear her car driving away. He speaks of the man that visits him at night, that sits at his bedside once darkness claims the day. He says the man enjoys seeing him broken down and disheveled. He goes on the explain that “there’s nothing quite as great as the embrace of the devil.”