“I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore, Laura,” he says.
I watch myself looking back; Laura’s face in the mirror behind his head. She is beautiful, sort of. She has a dusting of pale freckles on even paler skin. She smiles at him even though I feel like crying. She is confident. Her eyes sparkle cruelly. “Some slut has convinced you she can love you more than I do?”
His face falls, hurt. I want to scream that I didn’t mean it. I know that he would never betray me like that. I know he loves me, he just doesn’t know how to handle me when I get like this.
He turns to walk away, but Laura puts a hand on his shoulder. He glances back, maybe hopeful that I am hiding in there somewhere. Laura pushes away the desperation. She strokes his cheek and says, “I will miss you, Mickey.”
I’ve caught him. He can’t look away. Laura moves in for a good-bye kiss. I hold on to his hair, treasuring the way my fingers feel, encased in his dark curls. He gives in, for now. His tongue is angry, forceful as it presses into my mouth. I groan, needing him to take it back, wanting him to stay.
He grips my waist, kissing me even as he tries to push me away. I slip my hands under his t-shirt, run them down over his back, fumble with his belt. He moans some muffled protest which I ignore. I pull him backwards, stumbling over the edge of my into a heap. We wrestle. He tears some of the buttons on my shirt, but it won’t open all of the way. It is one of those stupid designs; sewn up half way. He gives up, shifting his attention to my mini-skirt, then ignores it completely, going for my underwear, already soaked through. I half-expect him to make me cum with his fingers – that’s what he normally does. He likes to draw things out like that; turns him on. This time, though, he just pushes my skirt up, pulls my knickers off and throws them away somewhere. I have already unzipped his jeans. We fuck like somehow it will make a difference. When it’s over, I’m in tears and he just gets up and searches through the pile of discarded clothes for his pants.
Laura lies there, watching him dress, her clothing in tatters, her skirt still bunched up above her waist. Then slowly, she sits up and straightens herself out. She walks over to the mirror, takes a brush off the dresser and ignores him completely. She hears the door slam, the characteristic rev of his Audi Q7, the roll of his tires on the gravel as he drives away, out of her life. She wipes away the streaks of mascara and carefully retouches her make-up. He is gone, she thinks, but it will be okay, there are plenty more fish in the sea.
Wordcount: 496
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