I keep coming back here when you text me. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, when my phone buzzes and you tell me that you want to fuck me, I'm ordering an Uber before I can even think it through.
I do have the whole car ride to think about it though. About whether you even like me, whether I'll always just be your fuck toi, or if one day you'll love me. Some days you fuck me so hard and aggressively that I'm covered in bruises and permanent marker when I leave in a daze. But some days I leave here feeling so close to you.
Laying in bed together and pouring my heart out in your arms... all my fears, my insecurities, my trauma. I tell you about my panic attacks and how my throat closes up and my chest tightens and I feel like I'm going to die. You were so loving, asking so many questions, really listening to my answers. I'd never felt so seen.
You open the door and walk away before you even greet me. Oh. It's going to be one of those fucks. You remove my clothes like it's a chore, like you're already bored with me. You're acting so cold... it's unsettling. Within minutes, with very little build up, I'm on all fours and you're pounding away at me.
"Hey Anna..."
Your voice was full of mirth. It unnerved me; it felt like rotten candy, sweet but full of poison.