It's 2am and I'm pulling up in this driveway again. I silently ask myself if it was worth it, all the secrecy and shame, just to enjoy a few fleeting moments of happiness. To feel like this, so used and so broken now, it never is. I still want to cry, but he's made his choice. He doesn't choose me. So, I choose B. Tonight.
Slowly walking up the path, I can see his truck is there along with a vehicle I don't recognize. People. Other people. I hesitate, but reach the door on numb legs nonetheless.
I open the door and step over the squeaky threshold. B had warned me about people sleeping in the living room, but I dump my keys noisily on the kitchen table anyway. I'm bitter. Drunk people don't matter to me.
Using my phone as a flashlight, I make my way down the hall. I don't really know why I came here. I need contact. To feel wanted. That's all. And... He's there. B is always there.
Reaching for his bedroom door, that familiar vacuum-seal breeze happens when I push and my hair flies in all directions for a second. "This is the real Chamber of Secrets," I think, and bite my lips together to keep from chuckling. Or crying. I'm not sure.
I feel my way in and turn the bathroom light on, closing the door just enough to let only a sliver shine through. Turning around, I finally see his form on the bed. I take my boots and my jacket off, slide under the blankets and next to him.
Warmth. Familiar smells of fresh soap and motor oil. Smells I often subconsciously relate to sex and passion now. B. I remember he once said that the scent of mint was the trigger that made him think of me and I smile.
