Macy
I watch Aaron walk away in disbelief at how relentlessly unpredictable everything is all of a sudden.
Well, namely Aaron. It’s a familiar fucking feeling, actually, and one I should’ve know would be coming the moment I saw the way he looked at me at the bar.
Sinking on a bench at the top of the stairs in the lobby, I watch his retreating back until he turns the corner.
He’s so fucking dramatic about everything. Is it so hard to communicate a little bit?
Watching someone run away at any hint of a disagreement—it’s like dating in college all again.
None of these fucking men ever grow the fuck up. At school, they would invariably end up skulking back to me after a few days at most, trying to pretend nothing happened.
The difference with Aaron is, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.
I’m surprised by the sinking sensation on my stomach.
No, I do not fucking like it.
Turning to the people around me, everyone seems so goddamn jovial and happy. There are a lot of couples, and nobody is here alone.
You shouldn’t need other people, especially when there’s so much fucking drama involved.
My stomach churns uncomfortably.
Hearing a muffled rumble in the distance, another jet is coming in, and it jars me from my self-absorbed thoughts.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting here.
Should I wait here a few more minutes, or do I even want to fucking be here when he comes back?
If he comes back.
Am I that easy to just walk away from?
At least I’ve got the suite all to myself now.
Fuck!
That doesn’t make me feel any better. I thought it would.
Tears are prickling at the back of my eyes, so I pull myself up and head for the elevators.
I do manage to make it all the way to my room before allowing the tears to fall. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull my shoes off as the traitor tears sneak out.
I must be tired. The past couple of days have been a whirlwind; a poorly maintained rollercoaster with faulty brakes. It’s more than just ups and downs—it’s more like fucking whiplash.
From the moment I arrived, it’s been one drama after another. Meeting Aaron at the bar, having him show up at the room, negotiating our deal.
I hesitate briefly before getting entirely naked. Which is dumb, I know.
But old habits die hard, and I know Aaron still has a key.
Thinking about Aaron, just makes my stupid tears start come down even faster.
Trying to analyze why I’m even crying, I decide I just need a distraction. I think the best way to relax, will be to try out the jetted tub. Because it’s pretty much in the room and glassed in on the deck, I would have worn a bikini with Aaron here.
Now, I can enjoy it while being fully nude. Grabbing a tissue, I blow my nose and walk over to it to see if I can figure out how to use the Star Trek control panel. After a bit of trial and error—and lots of swearing—I have it filling.
Walking around the suite, I grab a towel and head back over to the tub.
I wonder what Aaron expects me to do with his fucking stuff strewn everywhere. It really does blow me away, how he can just walk away from it all. Clothes, shoes, people...
It must be so nice to just be able to say Fuck it and leave everything where it lies.
Sinking into the tub, I lean back on the sloped side and enjoy the warm water. There are numerous aches and pains in my body, including a small twinge between my legs.
Fuck.
How can we have gone from having sex less than an hour ago, to, we’ll never see each other again. This is a good example of why long-term relationships are so unrealistic. It sure doesn’t help when one of the people has absolutely no idea how to communicate.
Aaron.
Goddamn it.
He’s the one that acted like there was more to it. Otherwise, why would he give a shit whether he talked to me about work? Friends should be able to talk to each other about anything.
It’s when things start to go beyond that everything, without fail, starts getting too fucking complicated. When you have to start hiding or omitting things for fear of hurting someone’s feelings, that’s when things get messy no matter what.
I don’t fucking know—I just know that I thought we had a good thing going.
I care about him.
I can admit that.
That doesn’t mean that I wanted commit and get all serious and shit. I just want to get along with him. I want to be able to communicate with him about his feelings and frustrations.
Friends can do that.
It isn’t fair the way he would make it so difficult.
He was playful one second and then two minutes later—if you said the wrong thing—he wouldn’t even talk anymore.
Who does that?
Frustrated tears are rolling down my cheeks, and I splash them away with the warm water.
“Stupid. Motherfucking. Tears.”
I accentuate each word with a splash to the face.
Now I’m feeling angrier at myself than him. This is so stupid!
I’ll let myself get this stupid goddamn cry out and then have the whole bed to myself.
Think of the positives.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up when I want. Relax and get a bite to eat. Then get right back to relaxing, or better yet working on ideas for my thesis, for the work that will ultimately secure my master’s degree.
I guess I was hoping to find some inspiration on this vacation, and I probably found more than I had bargained for.
I guess that inspiration finds you, sometimes.
Locating the button, I turn on the air jets to relax in the drone of the tub. The vibration is a nice distraction.
Turning my mind to our incredible time on that island last night, I smile through my tears.
I loved his impromptu striptease. So self-confident. So fucking hot.
Thinking about how his hard cock bounced as he dropped to his knees in front of me, has me relaxing more. Everything about his body makes me smile.
And the man can kiss. When he took my lips and lowered me to the ground. I was melting into a puddle below him.
I wanted to tear my bathing suit off right then and throw myself at him.
I’ll always enjoy these memories. It doesn’t matter how it ended between us.
I never expected anything different.
Thinking back to when we negotiated over champagne, I told myself then that he’s a fucking prick who only wants to fuck me and then leave me.
Check. Did that.
But I fucked him too. And it was eye opening.
That is one part of this whole experience that I do not regret in the fucking least.
Now I know what all the hype is about.
He may be Aaron Michaelson, but he still isn’t worth wasting any more of my time and energy. Or tears.
I’m Macy Evans, and I have important things to focus on, besides that walking dick.
I’ll objectify him just like I originally planned—or at least think about him in a way I can draw pleasant memories and inspiration from. Because right now, thinking about him in any other way is too painful.
Pulling the drain and shutting off the jets, I grab my towel and head into the bathroom to clean up my face and remove my makeup for the night.
My eyes are puffy and still stubbornly leaking.
If I still look this shitty in the morning, I’ll get room service to send up some cucumbers. Or maybe I’ll book a salon appointment for a facial.
I’ve still got some good resort time left, and I’m certainly not going to let the fact I’m now here alone keep me from them.
Unfortunately, that thought isn’t especially comforting right now.
It’s true, though, so…
Nope. It isn’t doing the trick.
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
I dab under my eyes and blow my nose again.
I only have spent a couple days with the guy. Why am I so upset?
Giving up on my face, I stumble back into the bedroom to collapse on the bed.
Ugly crying now.
I haven’t bawled like this since time freaking immemorial.
I give up. I give up on analyzing, understanding or trying to cope with it.
I just cry.
It’s all I can do.