La douleur exquise, phrase
The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.
I could barely remember getting home. All I knew was, suddenly I was in my own bathroom, splashing ice-cold water on my face and trying desperately to regain my focus.
My cock was still wet from her mouth, and my hands shook as I tried to wake myself up. I couldn’t let myself do this. Fall completely in love with her. She would end up breaking me worse than I’d ever broken myself.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself, my hand bracing the wall and my eyes finding my reflection in the mirror.
I looked like shit. My eyes were wide and panicked, the vein in my forehead painfully throbbing and my cock doing the same thing. I’d started coming when I’d pulled away from her, letting her taste only a bit before I left her on the floor like that. I hated myself for it, for leaving her as if she meant nothing when really she was all that mattered. But my self-preservation instincts were screaming at me to get away, to run. I couldn’t let her hurt me. I knew that if she did, I’d never come out of it alive.
Somehow, I managed to stumble into the bedroom. I stared at the sheets, at the lipstick message she’d written in the frame.
There was no way I could sleep in there tonight.
It felt all too natural to take the other route, walk towards the small room and open the door to the trash, the smell, the fucking putrid reality of what my life was in the sensory overload of the room.
There was a sleeping bag on the floor. I didn’t use it too often. Just on nights when it was especially bad.
I half-walked, half-crawled inside, inhaling the scent of the trash like a sweet welcome home. I crawled on the floor, my body rigid against the silky sleeping bag. I didn’t even deserve that. Any kind of comfort was too much for me, almost like a punishment instead of being a reward.
The stench was almost too much, so I cracked the tiny window open. It was barred, thick iron rods protruding from the windowsill to the top of the dirty glass. It was a prison of my own making.
I laid down, refusing to cover up, even when my teeth chattered in the cold. I fell into a dreamless sleep, disturbed by horrible images of what would happen if I let Bebe get closer. I woke up in a sweat what felt like every ten minutes, but I still didn’t leave the small room. I owed this to myself, to remind me of what a fuck-up I was, of how I’d never be anyone but the man from my past.
It felt like years had passed by the time dawn came, and I was convinced I’d aged a decade that night alone. My body felt broken and tired when I opened my eyes one final time, shivering in the cold and drenched in sweat from the dreamless terrors in my mind.
Somehow, I managed to drag myself out of the room. I shut the door firmly behind me and braced my back against the wood. I needed a bath like never before.
The walk to the bathroom was excruciating. I half-fell into the bath, clothes still on, and started pouring scalding hot water over my body. I had a bottle of bleach next to the bath, and I dumped what was left of it in the water. I’d never hated myself more than in that moment when I let my weakness cheat me of happiness yet again.
Heat and stinging greeted me as my clothes filled with water. My hands trembled and shook as I reached into the bathroom cabinet. A cigarette. I would kill for one now, but there were none left. I’d chain-smoked them all the last time I did this. Because try as I might to forget, this was my reality. No matter whether I had Bebe or not. And last night had just sealed my fate with her.
I knew what I had to do. Finally, it was becoming obvious just how dangerous my relationship with Bebe was, fucking me up in more ways than I cared to admit.
The only thing I could do was to distance myself.
And I knew exactly how to do that.
I mixed the bleach with bubble bath and sank into the warm, stinging comfort. The urge to breathe in the water and fill my lungs with it wasn’t as strong as it usually was, and I knew it was because of Bebe. I would just have to learn how to handle it after I pushed her away. It would be hard to keep the feeling of liveliness she put in my blood when she wasn’t around anymore.
I scrolled through my phone in the bath and put some arrangements into place. The only way to get over Bebe Hall was to let someone else have her. And what better distraction could I offer her but not one man, two instead, so she could pick and choose. Maybe it would ease the loneliness in my heart, and ease hers, too. I doubted the pain of letting her go would ever truly go away, but I didn’t have a choice. To condemn her to a life with me would be selfish, and so painful for both of us. I couldn’t ever see Bebe and me together in the long run. She’d get sick of me, and she’d leave, breaking my heart in the process.
A small voice in the back of my head was insisting that I was wrong. That I had to give her a chance, give us a chance, to see what came of it. But I was too scared to listen to it. I took the easy, painful way out.
Once I was done with my bath, I dried my burning skin and wrapped myself in a pristine bathrobe. T minus twelve hours and Bebe would be in the hands of two strangers. I would be watching them fuck her, my heart breaking, all the while knowing it was the right thing to do. I needed to push her far, far away—while I still could.
My phone rang shrilly as I got out of the bath, and I was surprised to find the name of Dr. Halen written across my screen.
I hadn’t talked to her since our encounter in my apartment.
“Hello?” I answered the phone stiffly, unsure why she was calling me at 8 in the morning.
“Miles,” she said, her voice streaked with worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
I thought of my forgotten laptop. The Skype meetings I’d missed. I felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Miles, are you alright?” Her voice showed genuine concern. The brief flirtation from her in my apartment was now gone, replaced by professional worry. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I can tell something’s off. Do you need anything?”
My mouth and mind fought over what to tell her.
“There’s a girl,” I finally managed to get out.
“Another one?”
“A special one,” I clarified. “One I… care for.”
“I see,” she said simply. “Is there a problem with her?”
I thought about her question for a second, unsure on how to answer her.
“I’m scared,” I finally confessed. It was so easy to tell her, even easier now that I didn’t have the video option on my phone. It was just our voices, and her soothing, calming soprano was lulling me into a sense of safety. “I’m scared she’s getting under my skin.”
“Well, do you want her there?” Dr. Halen asked, and I hesitated again. “Miles,” she went on. “Don’t push her away. This could be good for you. Does she understand?”
A simple question, but loaded with so many other implications, secrets, and lies.
Did Bebe understand that I was broken? Sheltered? Vulnerable? That I was a shell of a man, my darkest secrets hidden underneath a shiny veneer of fake bravado and charm?
Maybe. But would she stick around if she knew the truth, that I could break any moment? I doubted it.
“I have to go,” I said in a low voice. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Miles,” she pleaded. “Please, let me—”
I didn’t wait around to hear her concern. I just cut the call and sat down at my dining room table, finally risking a look across the street and into Bebe’s apartment. Her curtains were drawn, and I couldn’t see a thing. I couldn’t imagine how she was feeling. Maybe she was mad at me, or maybe she was trying desperately to understand. Maybe she would forgive me for this. But she most fucking definitely wouldn’t forgive me for what I was going to do that night.
I sat at the table for hours, my mind whirring around the problems I was facing and my body unable to keep up. I felt crippled with worry, derailed by my thoughts of Bebe. Nothing could save us now. I’d already doomed us both.
When the clock indicated it was noon, I sent Bebe a text message.
Surprise for you tonight. Be ready at 9 p.m. sharp. There will be a knock on your door.
The reply came back so fast I was convinced she’d been waiting with her phone in her hand. It only sealed my belief that this had to be done. We were both in too deep, better to get out before either of us got hurt permanently.
I’ll be ready. Can’t wait to see you. xoxo
My heart broke for both of us this time. She was so naive, so fucking clueless of all the ways I was going to break her to make sure she didn’t see me this way anymore. I’d already let things go too far. Now it was time to distance myself, detach myself from Bebe Hall. After tonight, I would no longer be in the equation. I would give her the night of her life without ever laying a finger on her, and then I’d wash my hands and move on. Back to my routine, back to regularly scheduled programming.
I couldn’t bear to think of what would happen to me after Bebe. But I knew she could handle losing me. She wasn’t as invested as I was yet.
What was going to happen after she moved on? Would we still be neighbors, or would the pain of seeing her apartment across the street from mine be too much to bear? Would I pretend it wasn’t before I finally moved out, endured the annoyance of moving all my shit to a new place just so I could ease the pain of seeing her in the window and never getting to hold her? Was I being a selfish prick, looking out for myself by doing this, or was I trying to protect us both?
Only time would tell, but I knew it was what had to be done. Bebe would be better off without me, and I’d only have myself to blame for the pain I’d be in, not an innocent woman.
I wasn’t looking forward to that night, but I knew it had to happen. And once it was over and done with, I’d finally be able to move the fuck on.
I would be a closed chapter in Bebe Hall’s life, and she would be the girl that got away.
It was always supposed to be this way.
Because the monster never ends up with the princess.